


Brooklyn Saw Me

by alreadyhome



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Bottom Louis, Fluff, Friendship, Homeless AU, Homeless Louis, Homelessness, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, New York City, Non-Graphic Violence, Slow Burn, Top Harry, University Student Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-03 05:17:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12741765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alreadyhome/pseuds/alreadyhome
Summary: In the cold and unforgiving city of New York, Louis doesn't have a home and Harry wants to give him one. But as their heartstrings become increasingly intertwined, and the snow continues to fall, home is getting harder and harder to find.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [serendipia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serendipia/gifts).



> Hello serendipia, thank you so much for the prompts! I liked them all but this one stood out the most. Hope you enjoy the fic, even just a little bit! :) 
> 
> Huge thank you to Mary and Paula for beta-ing the fic and being understanding and supportive angels. This fic would suck even more without you. 
> 
> Note: Please excuse some location inaccuracies involving New York and Brooklyn. Some inaccuracies exist for the purpose of the storyline, I hope it doesn't interfere with the reading experience too much! 
> 
> Warning for: homophobic slurs.
> 
> Title from Ever Since New York by the lovely Harry Styles. xx

 

**"These streets will make you feel brand new, the lights will inspire you."**

 

* * *

 

New York looks beautiful when it snows.

There's something about the slowly floating snowflakes and fluffy white blanket covering the streets that gives the city a softer look. The Christmas and New Year’s lights that usually pollute the night sky are blurred by the blizzard. Cars and people whiz by, noisy and fast. Everyone is happy, cozy, and excited about the New Year. 

Louis Tomlinson, who is huddled in a narrow alleyway, is not excited. 

Pedestrians walk past him, probably on their way to a restaurant to celebrate an amazing start to the year, while Louis is debating if he should eat anything at all tonight.

Maybe they're going shopping, while the holiday deals are still in effect, and Louis is wondering if the money he has in his bag will last him until February.

Everybody walking by him will head home at the end of the night, while Louis has already forgotten what home feels like. 

The dry, cold air pierces his fingers through his mittens, and Louis blows warm breath into his hands, fighting off frostbite. In the three months he’s been homeless, this is the coldest night so far; and the snow definitely doesn't help. 

Louis fears if he stays sitting in between these two buildings any longer, he'll freeze up completely and become an ice statue, never to move again. So, he wiggles his sore, numb toes in his sneakers and stands up, ignoring his stiff back. Swinging his bag over his shoulders, he slides out of hiding and onto the sidewalk. 

He almost blends in with the people around him, except for the fact that his jeans are torn and stained, his thin jacket is wrinkled, his hair is stringy and dirty, and his face is unshaven. Everyone knows what he is. They form a wide circle to avoid him. 

Louis doesn't know where he's going, so he follows the flow of the crowd and decides to go where they take him.

Snowflakes catch in his hair, piling up on his shoulders and his bag. He tugs his hood up over his head. Louis feels his stomach growl pathetically as he strolls past a pizza place. He hasn't had a full meal in what seems like forever, but dwelling on the hunger will only make it worse, so he doesn't think about it. 

He also doesn't think about the shadows that lurk on the side of the streets. Between the shops and boutiques, the merriment and festivity, where people crouched. They are homeless like Louis, with nowhere to go, nobody who loves them. 

He can feel their eyes following him as he walks, can almost hear their thoughts. 

_Is he one of us? Is he just like us?_  

Louis doesn't look at them. 

“Hey, you there!”

Louis stops, letting pedestrians walk around him. He turns to see a man shielded by the dark shadow of a tall building. Louis can't make out much of his features, but he can make out enough. 

The man is homeless. 

“Yeah, you, young man,” the man continues, stepping closer to Louis, “I'm not looking for trouble, alright? It's fucking freezing tonight, so if you have a blanket in that backpack, I'd appreciate it if we could share. Or if not, we could huddle together the rest of the night for warmth, eh? I'm about to get hypothermia.” 

Shaking his head, Louis backs away, hand instinctively clutching the bag on his shoulders.

The man holds out his hands. “Whoa, calm down, son. I'm not gonna hurt you. You're homeless like me, aren't you?”

Louis remembers the last time he spent a night with a person on the streets, the only friend he'd ever made out here. A friend he trusted. He remembers how it ended. 

Lies, betrayal, tears. Nobody can be trusted, especially if they are homeless and desperate. 

He won't make the same mistake again. Never again.

The man looks confused at Louis’ reaction. “Are you scared of me?”

Without a word, Louis spins around and continues down the sidewalk, head down and feet fast.

“Are you scared of me?” The man shouts behind him, bewildered, “why are you scared of me? _I'm just like you!_ ” 

It isn't until his voice is drowned out by the sound of car wheels slashing the snow and people chattering that Louis can breathe again. 

A couple steps later, he sees a large vent on the side of a brick building. It looks to be some kind of recreation centre. If Louis’ lucky, hot air will be spewing out of the vent, and he can warm his shaking hands.

If not, then he'll keep walking until his toes turn into ice cubes and fall off, one by one.

Turns out luck is on his side; the hot air feels like bliss compared to the frigid winter around him. After heating his hands, Louis takes off his shoes to press his feet against the vent. The bottoms of his feet are almost completely numb, and the sudden warm air makes them tingle.

Louis lays his extra jacket onto the snow and sits on it, pulling a flimsy, small blanket over his body. With his back pressed to the vent, he isn't as cold anymore, but still finds himself wishing he'd packed more tactfully when he left home. A thicker jacket, a sleeping bag, and proper snow boots can't hurt.

But Louis didn't exactly leave home on the best terms. He had no time to pack smart.

Now that he isn't freezing, Louis can't help but focus on his hunger. His stomach feels like an empty crater, a black hole that craves to be filled. It screams at him to eat something, but Louis knows he can't.

Pulling his hood tighter around his head, he finds distraction in looking up at the sky. 

It's pitch black and the snowflakes look like a million stars, falling down to earth. A million wishes and dreams that will never be granted. Louis wonders if his own are among them.

He falls asleep slowly, head lolling to the side, breath fogging in the icy air. 

He doesn't dream. It's almost like he doesn't remember how.

 

* * *

 

The first thing Louis does when he wakes up every morning is check his bag. 

He's learned from his time on the streets that although there kind-hearted homeless people, many of them have hit rock bottom and are driven to do things they normally wouldn’t.

Thievery is commonplace. Louis knows all too well. 

He unzips the tattered navy blue backpack he’s had since middle school and starts rummaging through its contents. 

His wallet is still there, along with his ID, and no money missing from his stash of $65. All his clothes are there; two pairs of underwear, one pair of socks, and two t-shirts. His food is there; a container of nuts, beef jerky, an apple, sardines, half a sandwich, and a bottle of water. His toiletries, like soap, a toothbrush, and dry shampoo, are all there.

It seems like nothing was taken during the night, and Louis is relieved.

He rubs the sleep from his eyes and uncurls the blanket from his body. The vent behind him has stopped releasing hot air, but there’s no need for it anymore. The snow has stopped, and the sky is a blueish grey. It isn’t warm, but it isn't as chilly as last night. 

Louis stretches his limbs and winces when he feels a sharp pain in his neck and a crook in his spine. Sleeping on hard ground is one of the worst things about being homeless, for sure. He desperately needs a massage. 

After a cold breakfast of a soggy sandwich and a few almonds, he packs everything into his bag and decides to walk. 

When people think of homelessness, they might think of the cold, hunger, violence, drugs, words commonly associated with being homeless. But nobody ever thinks of boredom. Louis thinks being bored with nothing to do is a large part of this kind of life. 

It's a good thing New York City has more than enough places to explore.

Since he was kicked out of his step-dad’s townhouse in Cobble Hill, Louis stays away from that neighbourhood. He mostly hangs around the poor neighbourhoods, but not straying far from the Brooklyn Bridge. 

That being said, Louis does wander around. Art galleries, historical sights, Prospect Park, the Botanic Garden. In his three months of homelessness, he's seen most of the attractions, although from a distance. He also knows Brooklyn’s streets fairly well by this point.

But there is one place he keeps coming back to, again and again.

Today is no different. He sets off to visit the place he's been to many times before, bag heavy on his shoulders. Though it pains his heart every time he goes there, he can't seem stay away.

It's lunchtime when Louis finally spots the tall buildings of New York University peek over the horizon. The sun is high in the sky, its glistening rays dancing across the leftover snow, warming the air considerably from this morning. 

University students are scattered across the campus, laughing and talking, enjoying their lunch break. Louis watches them, his stomach burning with both envy and contentment at seeing them happy.

He recently turned 19 in December and NYU is the school he should've gone to. He moved to New York mid-September, and the semester had already begun, but his step-dad arranged for him to attend anyways. Louis read so many brochures, articles, websites. NYU was his dream school, the only thing he was looking forward to about moving here.

But, before he could even start school, his world fell apart around him. Now he's homeless, and all he can do is watch.

And watching is what he does, marvelling at the majestic university buildings. He'd do anything to attend here. 

As Louis approaches the campus, but never actually sets foot on it, two female students from a nearby bench take notice of him. They look at him with obvious disgust and suspicion.

“This is the fourth time he's been here this week,” one of them whispers loudly.

“He's creepy. Let's get out of here,” the other girl responds, and the two of them pack up their lunches, scurrying away from the bench while glaring at Louis. 

He feels shame wash over him. He's been homeless for a relatively short amount of time, but he's already experienced his share of classism and prejudice. Insensitive people who think homelessness is a disease, who look at him like he's no better than a raccoon that raids from trash cans. 

But the thing is, Louis can't even get mad at those girls. He _is_ being creepy, obsessive, visiting a university so often when he doesn't even belong here. He wouldn't be surprised if somebody reported him.

The sun is beating down on his shoulders, but Louis feels cold. 

He's about to hang his head and leave, when he sees someone coming towards him him.

It's a boy around Louis’ age, so probably a student. He's dressed in a fluffy, green jacket and a wool hat is taming his short brown curls. He's steadily walking towards Louis, his leather boots crunching the snow. His face isn't angry, but Louis still considers running away, his hand clutching his bag. 

He backs up a few steps and the boy calls to him.

“Hi, wait a minute, please,” the boy’s voice is deep, rich, and kind, so Louis stays.

He lets the boy approach him. Now that he's closer, Louis can clearly see his striking green eyes and full lips, his expensive clothes, and his towering height. He hasn't spoken to someone like this in a while. He thinks to his own ratty jacket and short stature and he feels intimidated. 

The boy smiles, warm like sunshine, dimples caving in. “Hello, sorry to bother you. I'm Harry.” 

“I'm Louis,” it's the first time Louis’ spoken in days, and his voice is scratchy. 

“Lovely to meet you. So, I'm a student here,” Harry continues, gesturing behind him at the NYU campus, “and, I don't mean to pry, but I've seen you around here a couple times this week…”

“Oh god,” Louis feels cheeks grow hot before Harry even finishes, “I'm so sorry. I didn’t mean to be a stalker, I just… I won't come again, I swear! I'll leave right now.”

“No, no, no,” Harry holds his arms out before Louis could do just that, but not touching him, “that's not what I mean! You never come on campus, and this area is public property, so you're not doing anything wrong. I just mean, well, do you have anywhere to stay?” 

Louis narrows his eyes, wondering why Harry's asking him this. Is he going to offer a place to stay in his house? Louis would never accept that from a total stranger, even if their intentions are good. 

Then again, Louis can't lie. It's blatantly obvious he's homeless.

“No. I don't.”

“Okay,” Harry rummages in his coat pockets and pulls out a napkin and a pen, “because I know a place you can go…” 

Louis almost rolls his eyes, mouth ready to decline. There's no way he's going to this weird guy’s house.

“...it's a homeless shelter called _Brooklyn’s Hope.”_  

Louis’ eyes widen, mouth snapping closed. A homeless shelter?

Harry starts scribbling on his napkin. “It's a homeless shelter that belongs to a non-profit organization. We don't care about sexuality, race, gender, age or anything like that. If you wanna be there for dinner, the check-in ends at 5 PM. The last check-in for bed is at 8 PM.”

Louis blinks, trying to comprehend all of this, and Harry hands him the napkin.

“That's the address, and directions to get there. It's not too far from the university,” Harry grins, capping his pen, “I'm a volunteer there. You can ask for me when you come, if you want. I can show you around.” 

Speechless, Louis looks at the other boy in awe. He first thought the student was going to invite him to his house like a creep. But if Harry really does volunteer at this shelter, then he must genuinely care about homeless people.

It's so very rare to meet someone like Harry, who looks at Louis without judgement. Harry, who went out of his way to tell him about this homeless shelter because he was worried.

Louis wants to hug the guy, even if he knows he isn't going to the shelter.

“Thank you so much, wow,” he gave a close-lipped smile, stuffing the napkin into his pocket, “I appreciate it so much.”

Harry frowns, as if he knows Louis isn't seriously considering coming to the shelter.

“I really hope you come,” he says, stepping closer to Louis, “I heard there's going to be a big blizzard tonight, worse than yesterday's. If you know anybody else with nowhere to stay, please tell them to come as well. 

Louis isn't going. He's survived fine on his own, he doesn't need a shelter. He doesn't need to rely on anything or anyone but himself.

“Right, I'll consider it,” he says as genuinely as he can.

Harry nods slowly. “Alright. I'll see you soon then, Louis?” 

Nodding, Louis turns around and walks away from NYU. Harry's gaze burns on his back and he tries not to feel guilty for lying. 

Harry's a really lovely guy, and _Brooklyn’s Hope_ is probably a lovely place as well. But Louis can't put his trust in anything like that ever again. He can't depend on something like a shelter because if it ever disappears, Louis will be devastated.

He's learned from experience that there's very few things in life you can trust. He couldn't trust his friend, his step-dad, or even his own mother.

And he certainly couldn't trust Harry, or _Brooklyn’s Hope_.

Lost in his thoughts, Louis doesn't notice the grey storm clouds already swirling in the sky, dark and threatening, swallowing up the sun.

 

* * *

 

He hadn't expected the snowstorm Harry warned him about to be quite _this_ big. 

Yesterday's soft snowfall is paled in retrospect. 

Tonight, the snow falls in clumps, creating a wall of white haze. A howling wind rips through the air, accompanied by the usual sound of car tires in the slush. The streets are empty of pedestrians because nobody dares walk through a blizzard like this. The world seems devoid of any color. Everything is white white white.

Louis has never been so cold in his life.

He might as well be naked, because even though he has two jackets on, they do nothing to shield his weak body from the chilling wind. His mitten-clad fingers are frozen to the bone, and he can't feel his toes.

He's so cold that it feels like he's on fire.

Louis is standing under the awning of a restaurant, his back glowing yellow from the lights spilling outside the glass doors. He's already been kicked out of two small shops for “disturbing the customers” and soon he'll get kicked out of here too for the same reason. Business owners are not sympathetic, even on a terrible night like this. After all, he's only one out of hundreds of homeless people roaming New York City. 

If he goes to sleep outside like this, Louis knows he's going to die. He's starving, sore all over, and his blood is like ice running through his body. He wouldn't last a night out here. 

The previous months, October, November and even December, had been not bad, with minimal snow and wind, so Louis managed just fine outside.

But two days into January and he knows his luck has run out. 

With shaking hands, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled napkin.

He didn't stop thinking about Harry and _Brooklyn’s Hope_ all day. And even though he promised he wouldn't do this, he thinks he might have no choice now.

True to its name, _Brooklyn’s Hope_ is very close to the Brooklyn Bridge, which is also close to NYU, and Louis stayed close to the university all whole day. He'll be able to walk to the shelter in under an hour. 

But of course, the burning blizzard makes it that much harder.

Louis’ sneakers are drenched and heavy, and the harsh wind feels like needles pricking his face. He moves as fast as he can, following the simple directions Harry wrote on the napkin.

More than a couple times he just wants to give up and lie down, let the snow layer over his body and bury him deep in the ground, so nobody will ever find him. 

Once he arrives at the shelter, Louis is sure he's a few minutes away from actually freezing to death.

A wide, flat building looms like a black shadow against the white snow. Louis can't make out many details on the shelter, but he sees a set of glass doors with golden light on the other side, so he heads towards that.

When he grips the handle of the door, it doesn't open.

Panic sears through Louis, red and hot. _Brooklyn’s Hope_ is his absolute last option, and if it fails him, he’s going to die. He doesn't want to die yet.

He pushes and pulls with both hands, and the handles rattle but the door stays locked.

Louis is about to scream or punch the door or do something equally as dramatic, when he sees a figure walk toward him from inside the foggy glass. 

The door is opened, and Louis immediately wants to go inside into the warmth, but the man who opened the door blocks his way. He's older, with quiffed hair and sad face lines. He looks a bit mad.

“Sorry, dude, you're late,” the man says and Louis blinks.

“The last check-in for sleeping was at 8 PM. It is now 8:15,” the man explains slowly, “I was just about to pack up and leave, and I don't work overtime, so. Come back tomorrow, please. 

Louis stares at him in disbelief. Is he really getting denied entry for being 15 minutes late? This man, whoever he is, is just going to let Louis freeze to death outside of a homeless shelter? Called fucking _Brooklyn’s Hope?_

Fury bubbles up in Louis’ chest. He knew he shouldn't have come here. He shouldn't have trusted Harry and his kind smile. He said he wouldn't make the same mistake, yet here he is. What an idiot. Now he's going to fucking die–

“Nick? What's going on?”

Ears perking at the familiar voice, Louis looks over the man’s shoulder and sees Harry inside. He's dressed warmer than he was earlier today, and he looks like he's just about to leave the shelter. He spots Louis and his eyes widen, immediately rushing over.

“Harry, calm down,” the man—Nick, probably—assures as Harry approaches them, “it's just a kid who's late for check-in. I told him to come back tomorrow but he won't leave.”

“Are you serious?” Harry pushes Nick from the entrance, “he's going to fucking freeze out there, Nicholas. Nobody cares about the damn check-in time. Louis, please come in.”

The last sentence is spoken invitingly, so Louis gladly steps through the door. Hot air engulfs him like thick honey and he lets out a relieved breath, shaking the snow from his body. The door is closed behind him, sealing away the storm. 

Nick scoffs at Louis, crossing his arms. Harry jumps in.

“Next time someone wants to come in, and you're still here, you let them in,” he tells Nick firmly, “especially on a night like this. Nobody deserves to freeze to death for being a few minutes late.”

“Fine. But my shift is over and I'm leaving now,” Nick walks to the back of a large desk next to the door and grabs a bag, “if you care about this one so much, Harry, then you check him in. Goodnight.”

_So that's what Nick’s job is,_ Louis thinks as he watches the man step around the desk. Not the most friendly first face you'd want to see when entering a homeless shelter.

“I'm really sorry about him, Louis,” Harry says, worried and chewing his lip, “Nick’s new to the job, and not all of us are like him, I swear.”

“It's alright,” Louis replies quickly, and he means it. 

His skin is already heating up from the warmth of the shelter, and although his feet are still frozen numb, he feels so much safer and better than before that he wants to cry. He's glad he decided to come here.

“Are you still cold? It's crazy outside,” Harry starts moving before he's finished talking, “do you want a blanket?”

After Louis declines several times, because he's fine now, honestly, Harry relents and goes to the computer to check him in. Louis shows him his driver’s license as an ID, answers a few basic questions, and it's done.

“Let me show you around,” Harry says, standing up and walking further into the shelter, expecting Louis to follow him.

But Louis notices the long coat Harry has on, along with snow boots and a knitted hat. He wraps his fingers around Harry's arm, stopping him.

“Um, it's okay. It's pretty late and you were about to go home, right?” Louis fiddles with his fingers, “you've already helped a lot, um. Thank you. I can ask someone else to show me where to go.” 

Harry shakes his head lightly. “No way. I'm a volunteer so I don't have ‘shifts’ like Nick. Besides, I invited you here, so why wouldn't I show you around?”

Harry takes off his jacket and hat and throws them onto a small waiting chair, while Louis watches him in awe. He lets the other man lead him down a hallway into the shelter. He's convinced Harry's one of the nicest people he's ever met, and they've barely even spoke.

They walk into a room crammed with sofas and chairs, and a TV nailed to the wall, before turning into an even longer hallway. The lights are blue and dim. Their footsteps are loud on the tile floor, and it's strangely quiet. But it is late, after all, and everyone is probably asleep. 

“Are you hungry? I can see if we have any leftovers from dinner,” Harry offers, opening a door labeled “KITCHEN”.

Louis shakes his head. In fact, he is very hungry, but he doesn't think he can sit down and eat a meal right now in his uncomfortably soggy shoes and clothes.

Harry bites his lip, seeming to realize this. “Sorry, you must be cold and wet. I'll take you to the showers.”

They pass a few people on the way there who probably work at the shelter. Louis keeps his head down, avoiding eye contact. He knows it's ridiculous; homeless shelter workers won't judge him for being homeless. But he was late for check-in and he's starting to feel like a burden.

One man sends them a hard look as they walk by. 

“Get him in a bed by lights out, Harry,” he says sternly. 

“I know,” Harry sounds unbothered.

Louis starts to feel bad. He's probably a burden to Harry and everyone in the shelter. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to come after all. 

Harry stops in front of a door and Louis is careful not to crash into him. The door has a men’s symbol on it. 

The inside is huge. There are toilet stalls and urinals on one side, sinks on the other. Deeper into the room there are rows of showers and walls of small lockers nearby. The showers are very close and don't have curtains or walls separating them, but that's forgivable. The place is in good condition, clean and bright. Louis is impressed.

“Feel free to shower and use the shampoo and body wash in the dispensers. There are clean towels in the cabinets, please put them in the hamper when you're done. You can also find other toiletries in the cabinets. The lockers come with keys so you can lock up your things, or keep them by your bed later, that's fine too.” 

Harry recites this information before glancing at his wrist watch. 

“We should get you in a dorm before lights out at 9, so we don't wake anyone. There's still half an hour though, so no hurry.”

Louis is overwhelmed in the best way possible. He gets to take a proper shower after so long. He couldn't be happier.

“Thank you so, so much, Harry,” he says, emotional, “I just…I can't thank you enough, really.” 

Grinning, Harry ducks his head. “It's no problem at all. Take your time, okay?”

He then proceeds to slip on the floor, almost falling, before stumbling out the door. Louis can't help but giggle. He didn't peg Harry for the clumsy type.

After peeling off his soaking, limp clothes, Louis takes a towel and steps towards the showers. The whole bathroom is empty, so he doesn't feel awkward about being naked.

The first spray of warm water that hits his shoulders feels incredible. His cold skin tingles as his body temperature goes up, the muscles in his neck and back relaxing. The water beats on him like a massage, washing all the filth and grime off his body and into the drain.

Louis wants to stay under the shower until he turns into a prune, but he remembers Harry's words about lights out and decides to make it quick. He lathers his body with soap and shampoos his hair. The hot water is immediately missed when he turns it off, but the comfy towel he wraps around his body makes up for it. 

After brushing his teeth by the sink with his mini toothbrush, even though he didn’t eat much today, Louis pauses to look at himself in the mirror.

His body is thin and bony, covered with bruises, scratches and random bug bites. He used to have a bit of stomach pudge, but that was gone. His face is pale, his blue eyes dull, and his scruff is longer than he likes it to be. It's been awhile since he last shaved. His only razor broke a week ago.

Right now, in the mirror, Louis can see just how much homelessness has affected every aspect of him. 

He finds combs, toothbrushes, deodorant and razors in the cabinets under the sink. He decides to shave tomorrow so he isn't late for lights out.

Louis quickly squirms into his old clothes. His dirty shirt and pants contrast against his clean skin, and it almost feels wrong to wear them.

_You’re homeless, you deserve dirty clothes_ , he reminds himself, _you can't get used to taking warm showers and being clean. Even at the shelter, you’re still homeless._

He shoves his backpack into a small locker, hoping the little food he has in there doesn’t go bad. With the key in hand, Louis steps out of the bathroom, letting the door fall shut behind him.   

“Hey,” Harry says from beside him, and Louis almost screams.

“What the fu– I mean, Harry?” He stutters, clutching his chest, “you scared me. You’re still here?”

Harry looks amused. He tucks his phone, which he was typing on earlier, into his back pocket.

“Yeah. You were faster than I thought you'd be,” Harry assures him.

Louis shakes his wet hair. “No, you didn't have to wait for me. You should go home, you've already helped me so much.”

“Nonsense, I'll stay however late I like,” Harry insists before turning around and gesturing for the other boy to follow, “come on, I'll show you where the dorms are.”

Louis trails behind Harry, butterflies swirling in his tummy. He knows it's more or less Harry's job to show him around, since he volunteers at the shelter, but he isn't obligated to stay overtime to make sure Louis’ okay. Yet here he is, doing just that. Louis wishes he knew more people like Harry. 

They enter a huge room filled with narrow bunk beds. Most of the beds are occupied, some people talking quietly to each other, others keeping silent. They cast curious glances at Harry and Louis as they walk by, but never stared for long. 

Harry leads Louis to the back corner of the room, where there's bunk bed that's empty at the bottom. The a boy on the top bunk looks at Louis with lazy eyes, and Louis barely takes in his sculpted face and coffee skin, before the boy turns away. 

“There. I'm sure Zayn won't mind if you sleep on the bunk below him,” Harry says, knocking on the bedpost, “right, Zayn?” 

Zayn makes a noise and Harry seems satisfied with that. 

Louis wonders if Harry knows the names of every homeless person who came here. That takes commitment, but Louis wouldn't be surprised if he does. 

“You can do anything you want until lights out, as long as you stay in the dorm,” Harry explains, snapping Louis from his thoughts, “after lights out everyone has to go to sleep.”

Louis nods quickly. 

“Any more questions before I go?” Harry asks pleasantly.

“No, but thank you so much for all your help,” Louis looks down at his shoes, “I'm not sure how to repay you.”

“Good thing you don't have to. I'm helping because I want to, I promise, and you don't have to give me anything,” Harry says sincerely before smiling, “goodnight, Louis.”

Louis watches him leave the room, and flops down onto his bunk. The mattress is hard and lumpy, but it feels like heaven compared to the solid stone ground he's used to sleeping on. 

He decides to just sleep in his clothes, rolling onto his back and tucking the worn blanket around his shoulders. He distantly hears the sound of the roaring wind and snowstorm outside, and he's so relieved he doesn't have to spend the night in that.

Louis is considering making polite conversation with Zayn above him, since the lights are still on, but his eyelids get heavy without his permission. He feels warm and safe in this bed, two things he hasn't felt in a long time, and he's exhausted.

For the first time in months, he falls asleep with his head on a pillow.

 

* * *

  

The person ahead of Louis in the breakfast line just happens to be his bunk buddy from last night, Zayn.

Everything about Zayn is in better condition than Louis. His clean clothes, sleek black hair, and smooth face. He almost doesn't look homeless. Louis is a bit weary, but he used to be very outgoing and social before he was homeless, and he likes to think he hasn’t changed.

Besides, him and Zayn are in the same boat. 

“Hi,” Louis greets the other boy.

Zayn spins backwards, directing an expressionless gaze at him. “Hey.”

Louis hadn’t seen Zayn since last night. This morning, by the time he was woken by a call of “lights on!”, Zayn was already gone.

Once Louis got into the bathroom, it was a lot more crowded than yesterday. The showers and sinks were packed and he had to wait his turn. Louis eventually washed his face and helped himself to a razor to shave. He looked decent afterwards. The only visible traces of homelessness left were his clothes and his skinniness .

An employee at the shelter instructed everybody to form an orderly line for breakfast, and after that, they all had to exit the building and weren’t allowed back until dinner. 

Mornings at _Brooklyn’s Hope_ are a lot wilder than nights. The breakfast line had extended way past the kitchen and into the halls, and Louis begrudgingly headed to the back of the line.

Which brought him here, face to face with Zayn.

“Umm,” Louis struggles, “how did you sleep yesterday?” 

Dammit, he can do better than that. Looks like months of almost no human interaction has covered Louis’ excellent social skills with a layer of dust. 

“Fine. You?” Zayn is a man of many words. 

“Like a rock,” Louis admits, “best sleep I’ve had in awhile. My spine was stiff when I woke up, though.” 

The line moves forward marginally, and the two boys shuffle along with it. 

“Yeah, the mattresses here are as smooth as lumpy oatmeal,” Zayn agrees, “but you get used to it soon. Your back changes shape.”

Louis can't tell if Zayn is joking or being serious. He decides to move on.

“What do they usually serve here?” Louis questions, going on his tiptoes to peek at the front of the line. 

He can't even see the food from here.

“They serve something different every day of the week, so I don't remember,” Zayn replies, “you should ask Niall, he’d know.”

“Who's Niall?” Louis asks.

“My bo–” Zayn cuts himself off, hearing footsteps and turning around, “well, here he comes.”

A boy with bleached blond hair, sparkling blue eyes and skinny legs is striding over to them, a paper plate stacked high with food in his hands. He just got breakfast from the front of the line, and a pancake is hanging from his mouth. Louis immediately likes him. 

“Zayn, babe,” the boy—“Niall”—says, his Irish accent not surprising Louis at all, “I keep telling ya you gotta get up earlier if you wanna get food fast. You know they run out of pancakes halfway through and start serving toast.”

“I know, I did get up early,” Zayn argues, “but I had to do my hair. You know how long that takes.”

“Yeah, and it doesn't even look that good,” Niall grunts, biting into a sausage. 

Zayn elbows him, “fucker.”

Louis watches their exchange with amusement, cracking a smile. Zayn seems to remember his presence, and turns back around in the line to face him. 

“Right. Niall, this is Louis,” Zayn introduces, “and Louis, this is my boyfriend Niall.”

“Nice to meet ya,” Niall grins, but Louis is too shocked to respond.

Did Zayn just say _boyfriend?_ Louis’ head swims, a jumble of thoughts running through his brain. The loudest of them all is his step-father’s voice, screaming at him.

_“I don't need a fucking fairy for a son, so get the fuck out of my house! And don't you dare come back.”_  

Louis gulps.

“You okay, lad?” Niall asks, concerned. 

“Oh, yes, I'm fine. Just tired,” Louis lies, “nice to meet you too.”

Niall slurps another bite of pancake. “You're new here, aren't ya? Haven't seen you around. I'll give you the same advice: get up earlier. All the best breakfast foods run out quick.”

“Not everybody is addicted to food like you,” Zayn knocks Niall’s head.

“Um, what are they serving today?” Louis scans Niall’s giant plate.

“It's Monday, so they have pancakes, bacon, fried eggs, potato salad, sausages, and orange juice or milk,” Niall recites impressively.

“That's a lot,” Louis whistles, gesturing at the Irish man’s plate. 

“Yeah, Harry's serving today, that's why,” he laughs, “he always gives everyone too much. Good lad.”

Louis freezes. “Wait, Harry? He helps serve food too?” 

“You met Harry, huh?” Niall waves his fork in the air, “Anyways, yeah, Harry helps out with a bit of everything. He's a volunteer so he doesn't really have an official position. He's everywhere.”

“His official position is being Barbara’s favourite,” Zayn puts in, “Barbara is the manager of this place, and even back when Niall and I first came here, Harry's always been the star employee. Barbara would pay him buckets, if he didn't insist on being a volunteer.”

Louis bites his lip. Great, as if he didn't have enough reasons already to believe Harry is the best person ever. The man is practically a saint.

The line continues moving forward, and Niall sticks by their side while eating his breakfast. The three of them are almost at the front, and Louis feels nervous all of a sudden, knowing he'll see Harry again.

“...enjoy the food, Jessie,” Louis catches the sound of Harry's calming voice, and it's his turn to grab a plate and be served.

There's two other employees serving before Harry, all in white aprons, and they smile at Louis while loading his plate. Harry has a big spoonful of potato salad waiting as Louis approaches him. 

“Hi,” Harry pauses when he sees Louis, “good morning, Louis. Everything okay last night?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Louis watches the other boy plop a generous helping of potato on his plate. 

“Enjoy the food,” Harry winks at him, “there might be seconds.”

At the end of the food line, Zayn and Niall are waiting for him. Though Niall is almost finished his breakfast, they decide to head to the dining area anyways. Louis snags a glass of orange juice and the three of them sneak out of the kitchen through another door into a big cafeteria-like room. A group of people seated at a table are about to leave, so they take the empty spot.

Louis barely even sits down before he digs into his food. He's absolutely famished, and his stomach cries in relief when he bites into a buttery pancake. 

He eats like a madman. Across from him, Niall hums with approval.

Although the food is surprisingly really good, Louis can't seem to eat more than half of it. He's oddly full already, like his stomach isn't used to eating a full blown meal after so long. 

“Is the food always this good?” He asks around a mouthful of egg. 

“In the four months we've been here, there hasn't been a bad meal,” Niall pokes his boyfriend, “right, Zayn?” 

“Babe, you'd literally eat a dead rat,” Zayn points out. 

Louis hears a chair scrape next to him, and he twists his head to see Harry, apron still on, sit beside him. Harry beams at him, running a hand through his short curls. 

Quickly, Louis reaches for a napkin to wipe the sauce and grease off from his face, embarrassed. _What's Harry doing here?_

“Harry, mate, where's your hair net?” Niall says in lieu of a greeting, “didn't I tell you how many times I found your hair in my food?” 

Harry rolls his eyes. “Hi, Niall.” 

“You finished serving?” Zayn asks, bringing a piece of bacon to his mouth.

“Yeah, Mart is taking over for me,” Harry turns to look at Louis, “how's the food?”

“Good, as usual,” Niall responds, but Harry keeps his eyes on Louis. 

“Really good,” Louis agrees, staring at his plate regretfully, “but I don't think I can finish it.”

“That's alright,” Harry nods understandingly, “you can take it with you for later.”

Louis’ eyes light up. That's perfect; he has an almost empty container of nuts in his backpack he can put the breakfast in.

“Good idea,” he tells Harry shyly.

“So, Louis,” Zayn starts, getting everyone's attention, “I don't mean to be blunt, but why are you homeless?”

Louis chokes on air, his heart jumping at the sudden subject. He did _not_ expect to be asked that by somebody he just met minutes ago. Niall and Harry both throw warning glares at Zayn. 

Zayn shrugs innocently. “Well, if we're all gonna be friends you're gonna tell us eventually. It won't be any less awkward, so might as well get it out of the way now.”

Louis pauses. Zayn’s right. Avoiding a topic like this will only make it an even bigger elephant in the room. 

“You don't have to tell us anything,” Harry assures Louis, still glaring at Zayn. 

“Then, I'll tell you why Niall and I are homeless,” Zayn offers.

Louis waves his hands. “No, you don't have to.”

“It's fine, just tell ‘im,” Niall nods, “we're not ashamed of it.”

“We first met at a gay bar, and hit it off instantly. But our homophobic parents didn't approve of our relationship. Threatened to kick us out of the house if we didn't break up,” Zayn chuckles darkly. 

“We saved them the effort of having to do that by running away together. But I couldn't find a job and Niall's waiter position didn't make nearly enough money for the two of us. We had to drop out of university, live in the shittiest apartment, eat two meals a day.

Then, Niall lost his job and we were months late on the rent. The landlord made us leave and took all our furniture and belongings. Homeless, just like that. It happened so fast.”

“We're getting back on our feet, though,” Niall cuts in, “Zayn and I both have employment counsellors now. I still don't regret running from home at all.”

Harry's mild expression shows he's probably heard this story before, but Louis is gazing at the two other boys in admiration. 

_They've been through so much just to stay together,_ he marvels, _they must love each other a whole lot._

“Wow. You guys are kind of amazing,” Louis casts his eyes down, “my story isn't nearly as brave.”

Harry's arm snakes out like he wants to comfort Louis, but he pulls it back at the last second, unsure.

“Nobody here will ever judge you,” Niall says seriously, “we've all fought different battles.”

Around them, people are conversing and eating, their forks and plates clinking together, all the sounds blending into one muted background noise.

Louis doesn't want to intrust these basically-strangers with his private story, a story he's only told to one other person. But, looking into the welcoming eyes of Harry, Zayn and Niall, he finds himself wanting to tell them. There's something trustworthy about these boys. Besides, he's not ashamed of his story either.

“My dad passed away when I was young, and my mom recently started seeing a wealthy man she met at her office job. He proposed a year later and they had their wedding last summer.

My step-dad has a huge townhouse in Brooklyn, so he wanted Mom and I to move from Connecticut and live here with him. We'd only lived in New York for two weeks before he found out I was gay.” 

Louis takes a big breath. 

“He was furious. He threw me out of the house, and my mom couldn't stop him. I had no friends to stay with in New York, and no job, and I wasn't used to the city yet. I had to explore all of Brooklyn’s streets on my own. That was three months ago.”

Harry, Niall and Zayn are staring at him with sad looks in their eyes.

“That's horrible,” Niall spits, “fuck homophobes, I wish I could personally knee all of ‘em in the face.”

“Thanks for telling us, Louis,” Zayn says, smiling for the first time since Louis’ met him.

Harry doesn't say anything, just reaches over and squeezes Louis’ hand. Louis jolts, surprised, but he gets the message.

_I'm sorry I couldn't do anything to help._

He squeezes back.

“Honestly, fuck all of them, we don't need ‘em,” Niall continues, passionate, “one day, we'll all be rich and fat and we can say we did it without our asshole parents.”

He stops, looking at Harry. “Except for you, H. I'm sure your parents are lovely.”

Zayn snorts while Harry says, “no offence taken. Please continue.” 

Louis laughs and feels a spark of genuine happiness in his heart as he watches the boys bicker. His chest feels warm. Strangely, he's not worrying about how he just spilled his entire backstory to strangers, or if Harry, Niall and Zayn could even be trusted.

Instead, he's thinking about how he'd love to be friends with these three boys.

 


	2. Two

 

**"You like New York City in the daytime, I like New York City in the nighttime."**

 

* * *

 

“Watch it, hobo.”

An old man angrily shoulders Louis, making him almost fall into the busy traffic. He slips into a brown puddle of melted snow by the curb, and his shoes are wet. Again.

Sighing, Louis stamps his feet and continues striding down the street. He’s considerably further away from _Brooklyn’s Hope_ now, which is good because he can’t get too attached to that place and the people there.

He’d already spent the whole morning walking and thinking of a plan: he’ll go to _Brooklyn’s Hope_ to eat dinner and sleep every _other_ night instead of everyday. That way, he won't become completely reliant on the shelter and he'll still remain independent and strong.

He doesn't think about how the more far away he is from _Brooklyn’s Hope_ , the tighter his chest feels. Like there's already a string connecting his heart to the shelter, and it's being stretched.

Louis approaches a street he frequents on. He weaves through the people, shoes crunching the freshly fallen snow on the sidewalk. Once again, the sun is high in the sky, causing the snow to glisten like diamonds. Louis can only hope the good weather lasts this time.

Someone walks near him with a giant buttery pretzel, and Louis’ stomach growls.

He usually skips lunch or eats something light, but today his backpack is slightly heavier with his leftovers from breakfast, and he's really hungry.

 _Can't hurt,_ Louis thinks, swinging his bag around. He might as well finish what he didn't in the morning.

He digs into his container of leftovers with a plastic fork, eagerly biting into a squished pancake. It almost tastes better cold. Feet moving, he's thinking of going to the antique store on this street, where the gracious shop owner lets him sit outside, to finish his makeshift lunch.

Munching on a sausage, Louis looks up from his food a split second too late.

He collides with a hard chest, and his container flips over to stain his own clothes with oily food, before clattering to the ground. He almost falls on his ass, but catches himself. He looks at his leftover breakfast splayed all across the snow, and he kind of wants to sob.

“Oh Jesus, I'm so sorry,” the person with the hard chest speaks.

Louis looks up to see a tall man about his age, with bushy eyebrows, firm and shiny brown hair, and an expensive black leather jacket. So he's rich, then.

“That's okay,” Louis says quietly, keeping his head down.

He bends to pick up his container but the other man is already getting it for him. He passes it to Louis, a frown on his face.

“No, it's not, I should've been looking where I was going,” the man shakes his head, then looks down at his Rolex watch, “tell you what, mate, how about I treat you to lunch?”

Eyes widening, Louis stutters, “it's okay, you really don't have to do that.”

“I soiled your lunch and your shirt, I really do,” the other boy chuckles, “it's time for lunch anyways. C’mon, I know a good place.”

He turns to squeeze through the bustling crowd. Louis watches him for a second, and all it takes is a growl from his stomach before he's dashing to catch up with the other man. 

“I don't want to be in your way,” Louis is still protesting, “I'm sure you have better things to do than take a stranger to lunch.”

“I actually don't. I'm just on my way back from my girlfriend’s house and I was gonna grab something either way,” the boy smiles big, “I'm Liam, by the way.”

“Louis.”

“I'm so sorry about crashing into you, Louis,” Liam winces, looking at Louis’ grease-covered shirt, “you want to cover that with my jacket?”

“No!” His jacket is probably worth more than Louis’ existence, “no, that's fine. I'm good.”

Liam shrugs. “If you say so.”

He seems completely innocent to the fact that Louis is homeless. To the musty tinge on his clothes, the rumpled bag on his back, the occasional weird stare people are giving them. It's like he doesn't notice. Or maybe he does, but he doesn't care.

Heartbeat slowing down, Louis falls into step with Liam, feeling comfortable with the other man despite their differences.

They reach a cafe at the end of the block. Louis has passed by this same place plenty of times, always walking slower to enjoy the aroma of espresso shots and steamed milk. This is the first time he will ever go inside. Liam holds the door open for him.

The interior is a swirl of mahogany walls and golden decor. People perch on high tables and snuggle in booths, a wall of conversation, hot coffee and merriment shielding them from the cold outside.

Louis can tell the cafe is a bit more expensive and high class than your usual Starbucks. Even though Liam is paying, his hands start to get clammy. He knows what he must look like, especially next to someone like Liam. He feels the cafe-goers’ gazes on him, comparing him to Liam, whispering. He tries to discreetly hide the dirty stains on his clothes.

Liam gets them a booth in the corner of the cafe, away from lingering eyes, for which Louis is grateful.

Flipping through the menu easily, Liam asks, “what do you want to eat?”

“Just whatever you're having,” Louis responds quickly.

Nodding, the other man beckons a waitress and orders two of some kind of sandwich, and hot teas. Louis looks down at the table and picks at the wood.

“So, Louis, tell me about yourself.”

Startled, Louis glances up at Liam. He didn't expect to see the genuine interest in the other man's eyes. He thought Liam only took him out to lunch out of guilt, not because he actually cared.

“Uh, nothing much to tell. I'm a simple guy, I like music, warm sweaters, tea, mint chocolate ice cream, all that.”

“Now hang on, did you just say mint chocolate ice cream?” Liam’s eyebrows furrow, “mate, that's an abomination.”

Louis snorts. “Oh, c’mon. Don't tell me you're one of those.”

“If by ‘those’ you mean sane people, then yes I am,” Liam jokes.

“Alright, what do you like then?”

“Everything you just listed, minus the mint ice cream, plus dogs, exercising, and working.” Liam responds.

“Working?” Louis blinks, surprised, “You must have the best job ever then.”

“Not really. I intern at my dad’s company. Help him organize papers, transfer calls, get coffee. It’s not much, but I like doing mundane and routine tasks like that. Puts me at ease.”

Louis recognizes he and Liam are quite the exact opposite in most ways. From their personality to looks and social status. Yet they don’t clash.

“What do you do for a living, then?” Liam asks, and Louis freezes up.

His heart pumps a wave of ice through his veins, his hands and toes suddenly cold despite the warm cafe. He doesn’t know how to answer this question.

The waitress saves him by bringing over their burgers, cheese dripping over the sides, and two mugs of steaming tea lattes. Louis watches Liam take a generous bite out of his food, mind still racing.

He doesn't want to tell Liam he's homeless, doesn't want the other man looking at him differently. But who's to say Liam hasn't figured it out already, and is just being polite? How else could he explain Louis’ appearance?

And there's something about Liam, something in his muddy brown eyes, that makes him trustworthy. He's a kind soul, and reminds Louis of Niall, Zayn and Harry. Louis wants to trust him.

“I'm homeless, actually,” he blurts, “so I don't have a job at the moment.”

Liam doesn't even flinch, just nods and wipes cheese from the corner of his mouth.

“I see. My girlfriend, Sophia, was homeless for a long time too,” Liam tells him.

Louis feels warmth return to his body, relieved at Liam’s calmness to the situation. He lifts his own burger and takes a bite, the savoury food mouthwatering and rich.

“Really?” He mumbles around a mouthful, “why was she homeless, if you don't mind me asking?”

“Her family was really poor, and she lived on the streets with her mom for a whole year,” Liam blows steam off his tea, “I met her after that though, when she was working at a convenience store. She's in uni now, majoring in law.”

“That's incredible,” Louis says, in wonder .

Liam gives him a friendly smile. “Yeah, I'm endlessly proud of her. Homelessness doesn't last forever. There's nowhere left to go but up, right?”

The two chat easily, until all that remains of their lunch is crumbs on the plates and tea bags in the mugs. Louis’ whole body feels toasty, his belly is full, and he's content. He's eaten two actual, full meals today. He can't believe his luck.

Liam insists on giving Louis his number afterwards even after learning Louis’ phone is out of battery.

“Just find a way to call me whenever you need me,” he suggests, “if you need somewhere to stay, money, whatever. I want to help you.”

Louis would never call Liam for that, but he thanks him regardless.

When they part ways outside of the cafe, Louis suddenly feels lonely standing in the chilly January air. People walk by him, indifferent to his existence, and his heart feels emptier than before.

He's used to being alone, of course, after months of spending his days solo. But he's met four incredibly nice people in the span of one day, and now that he's by himself, he misses the company.

Louis shakes his head at his own ridiculousness. This is why he shouldn't get close to people, or else he'd need them around constantly, which isn't good.

Resisting a strong urge to march right back to _Brooklyn's Hope_ , he turns to tread down the frosty sidewalk, trying to hold on to the warmth Liam, Zayn, Niall and Harry have given him.

 

* * *

 

_Brooklyn's Hope Homeless Shelter: never lose hope_

Louis stares up at the bright yellow sign nailed into the side of the building. He didn't notice it last time he came, but to be fair last time it was dark, snowing, and he was frozen to the bone.

As he promised himself, Louis didn't return to the shelter after the night he first came. He doesn't want to get attached, so he hasn't neared the shelter in two days. Thankfully the weather has been mild and he's bought a bit of food at the discount mart.

It isn't bad tonight either. The sky is dark blue, and the air is only a little biting. But Louis is here because he really misses it already, which is absurd.

When he last checked the time at the grocery store it was 4 PM, so he should be punctual for dinner. He's sure learned his lesson about being late.

There's a small line in front of the sign-in desk, and Louis steps in the back. He can't help but look for three heads in the cluster, blond, black and brunette, but he doesn't find any of the boys he met last time.

“Hi, welcome to _Brooklyn's Hope_ ,” Nick greets him with a dreary tone and dull face when he gets to the front.

After checking in, Louis follows signs taped onto the walls that lead him to the kitchen for dinner. He hopes to see Harry, at least. He doesn't know why, but wants to see him again.

As if on cue, he spots the curly-haired man diligently sweeping crumbs and wrappers off the floor by the kitchen.

Louis smiles, happy, and without thinking, he calls out, “Harry!”

He immediately clamps his mouth shut as Harry’s head snaps up to look at him. He's so stupid, he shouldn't have done that. Harry meets so many people everyday, he probably doesn't even remember him–

“Louis,” Harry says, a hint of relief in his voice as he jogs over, broom in hand, “hi, how are you? You didn't come in yesterday.”

Louis blinks. He didn't expect Harry to notice his absence at all.

“Well, I don't have to come everyday, do I?” Louis winces at the unintended harshness of his words.

“Of course not, I was just worried about you. But now you're here, so it's okay,” Harry adds quickly.

Louis slots into the line for dinner and Harry follows. The line is long, but not as long as Louis expected it to be. There must be hundreds of hungry homeless people in New York tonight, but only 30 or so people in the line.

“You're not serving food today,” Louis notes, watching Harry sweep around his feet.

“Yeah, I'm mostly doing cleaning,” Harry groans, “after dinner, I'm gonna have an enormous pile of dishes in the back waiting for me.”

Louis laughs. “What's the menu tonight? Nothing greasy, I hope?”

“Fried chicken, cheesy hash browns and butter steak,” the other boy deadpans, “I will literally drown in grease.”

They continue to chat as Harry pretends to sweep even when the floor around them is spotless. When Louis reaches the front, Harry darts off to do some actual cleaning. Plate sagging with food, Louis heads to the dining room to eat.

He's just sat down at an empty table when an Irish cry of, “Louis!” is heard above the noise, and Niall and Zayn are sliding up beside him at the table. Louis hardly bites back his pleased smile.

“Where've you been? Niall and I were starting to worry about you,” Zayn says around his chicken.

Louis didn't think anybody would give a shit if he just disappeared off the face of the earth, but apparently not. His heart flutters at the thought that Harry, Niall and Zayn truly care about his wellbeing.

They chat, mostly just Niall with an occasional blunt and sarcastic comment from Zayn, and Louis hasn't laughed so hard in a while. Harry joins them for a few minutes, then leaves to do a garbage run and returns with a hairnet on.

They talk fast and eat slow, until the dining room is mostly empty and quiet. Louis manages to eat more this time, but he's more full on laughter and happiness than food. His heart feels light.

He admits his phone is dead when Harry offers to give him his number.

“We have plugs in all the dorms, and chargers too. I'll get you one,” Harry offers, “you should charge your phone, in case you need it.”

He's right. After washing up, Louis claims the bed under Zayn’s again, and Niall runs off to his favourite bunk, the one closest to the door and the kitchen. Apparently Zayn and Niall don't sleep together because “Niall kicks his legs like a donkey when he dreams.

Louis shakes out his damp hair, and pops a borrowed charger into the plug on the wall near his bed. His phone lights up for the first time in over a month, happy to be powered again.

As he inputs Harry, Liam, Zayn and Niall's numbers into his contacts, he notices many unread texts.

The latest one is from his mom, sent a few weeks ago. He clicks on it anxiously.

_I'm so sorry, Louis._

Louis scans the text over and over again, angry tears welling up his eyes.

Sorry doesn't give him food to eat. Sorry doesn't put a roof over his head, or warm clothes on his body. Sorry doesn't treat the bruises and cuts all over his legs. Sorry doesn't stop the people on the street from looking at him like he's a pest, afraid of even touching him.

Sorry doesn't change the fact that his own mother let him get tossed onto the streets like garbage, left to rot. And all because he's _gay_.

He clutches his phone tightly, hands shaking. He knows it's not really his mom’s fault. She couldn't stop his step-dad from doing what he did, in case he kicked her out as well. It was self-preservation, but Louis doesn't know if he can forgive her.

“Lights out!” A voice calls, and darkness surrounds him, his phone screen casting an eerie glow on his face.

Louis sighs and places his phone on the floor next to his bag. He flips over on the lumpy mattress, pulling the sheets over his head. He wills himself to forget. Forget about his mom, his step-dad, his homelessness.

But he can't. Everything is etched onto his skin like a tattoo, following him wherever he goes, forever a part of the story of his life.

 

* * *

 

“Louis, get up. Louis. The waffles are running out.”

When Louis wakes up, his toes are warm and an Irish voice is breathing in his ear. His first instinct is still to check his bag to make sure nothing was stolen, but he doesn't.

The dorm is still dark, with sharp sunlight peeking through the gaps in the blinds. Niall shakes his shoulder again.

Reportedly, “Zayn is already up but he'll take an hour to do his hair” and Niall decided to wake Louis up too so he “won't miss the waffles. They run out quick.”

Louis is so warm and well-rested he isn't even annoyed at being woken up at the crack of dawn. He and Niall tiptoe out of the dorm and head to the bathrooms, where Zayn is indeed combing his hair. Louis washes up fast and shaves his stubble. He feels refreshed once again.

By the time other people start trickling into the restroom, Louis and Niall are done. They unhurriedly stride to the kitchen, where employees at the shelter are setting up tables and bringing big trays of food to be served.

Harry walks past them with a metal tray of waffles and pauses.

“Oh, hey. Good morning guys, how'd you sleep?” He adjusts the big tray under his arm, smiling as always.

Louis has to look away. Harry's bright teeth and green eyes are too much for him this early in the morning.

“Yeh, not bad, the usual,” Niall makes no attempt to hide his stare at the golden waffles in Harry's hands.

Harry nods. “Louis? What about you?”

“Good,” Louis replies quickly.

“It's really sunny outside today,” Harry continues to walk, prompting Niall and Louis to trail behind him, “thank god, after all that snow. Niall, we’re still going to Coney Island today?”

Niall seems to snap out of it. “Oh yeah! Harry, mate, I forgot to tell ya but there's an open job fair in town today and Zayn and I are planning to go. I know we planned this Coney Island thing for weeks but you'll understand, right?”

“Of course,” Harry heaves the waffles onto a table next to some meat patties, “I completely understand. Good luck at the fair!”

Louis echoes the “good luck” just as Harry turns to him.

“Well, since Niall and Zayn can't come, do you wanna go to Coney Island with me, Louis?” Harry adds, “it's too nice of a day not to go anywhere.”

Louis is startled, Harry's words not quite registering in his head. He's sure he's just another person at the homeless shelter to Harry, not nearly important enough for him to invite anywhere. Maybe Harry's just offering to be nice?

“I don't have tickets,” Louis protests weakly.

“You don't need tickets during winter since the rides aren't open,” Harry explains, dragging a hand through his hair, “it's still fun though, which is why I go every winter. I was gonna invite you to come along anyways, and you'll have a good time, I promise.”

“It's a date,” Niall snickers from beside them and Harry elbows him.

Louis is even more flustered now. “Are you sure you want me to come? I don't want to be a bother.”

“Absolutely I want you to come,” Harry says confidently, “it won't be fun if you aren't there. We can leave right after breakfast.”

Reluctantly, Louis agrees. Other people are starting to appear the kitchen area, so him and Niall promptly grab plates to get food. They then sit down and save a spot for Zayn, who arrives later with toast instead of waffles, but admittedly gorgeous hair.

For the first time, Louis can't really focus on food. He's got plans, actual plans, with Harry right after this and he's nervous. He hasn't hung out with many people lately, and his once top-notch social skills are a bit rusty.

Besides that, Harry is a handsome, kind-hearted man and Louis is just homeless and not good enough for him. The thought makes his stomach churn.

The end of breakfast approaches much too quick, and soon the dining room is clear of people. Niall and Zayn wave goodbye and head off to the job fair, while Louis lingers, wondering how he'll meet up with Harry. He hasn't seen the other man at all throughout the meal.

Turns out he doesn't have to worry though, because Harry is racing over to him from the kitchen, apron still on.

“Hey, Louis. I'll be ready to go once I change and grab something. You need to get anything?”

Louis does need to get his backpack from the lockers, so he and Harry agree to meet outside the shelter. Louis’ heart is pounding as he leaves to get his bag and he hates himself for it. He shouldn't be _this_ nervous, he used to hang out with friends all the time.

Outside, the weather is beautiful, like Harry said. A rare sunny day in January, complete with a blue, cloudless sky. The only trace of the past few snowy days is patches of ice crystals still melting on the ground.

Harry has his hair pushed back with a yellow bandana, and is wearing black jeans with a light jacket. His look screams “good-looking university student”. Louis doesn't even want to know what his own look screams.

But Harry smiles at him like he's worth smiling at, and Louis melts a little.

“Have you been to Coney Island before?” Harry asks as they walk to the bus stop.

Louis shakes his head. He's been to a lot of tourist sites in Brooklyn, but he always assumed you needed tickets to get in Coney Island, and in no means does he have the money to spend on that, which is why he's never wandered there.

“It's amazing,” Harry gushes, “mostly during summer, when the rides are open. But during winter, it's like a whole new place and it's amazing in a different way.”

Louis nods along eagerly. He hasn't been to many beaches or amusement parks, since he lived in Connecticut his entire life. His heart starts to beat with excitement more than nervousness.

As they approach the bus stop Louis realizes it'll be Harry providing the bus tickets. And if they buy food, he'll be paying too. Louis hates owing people things, especially money. The fact that he's unable to pay for anything they do today makes him feel useless.

“I'm sorry,” he says, begrudgingly accepting the bus ticket Harry hands him, “I'll pay you back for everything once I can, I swear.”

Harry looks at him like he's grown two heads. “No, Louis, don't worry about it at all. I'm taking you because I want to, okay? You don't owe me anything.”

But Louis owes him so much already, much more than just money. He nods anyways.

The bus is crowded, people still buzzing on New Year's joy. Harry and Louis are squished to the back door. Louis is used to people—he walks on crowded streets all the time—and he's used to the stares they give him. But so many people in one crammed place makes him a bit jumpy.

As the bus rolls along, he suddenly notices Harry's position in front of him. The other man has an arm braced beside Louis’ head, his hand clutching a pole behind Louis. He’s bracketing Louis in, kind of protecting him from being squeezed by the people around them.

Louis’ cheeks heat up, not used to a protective gesture like this. But he's being ridiculous. Harry probably doesn't even realize what he's doing.

The bus lurches to a stop, and Harry's arm muscles tense so he doesn't fall right into him. Louis tries not to think about it.

After the bus, the walk to Coney Island is short, and as Louis takes in the scenery, he decides Harry is definitely right about the place being amazing during winter. The sky is wide and blue, meeting a deep black ocean at the horizon. Roller coasters and Ferris wheels stand tall, a skeleton of what they are during the summer. The place is deserted and quiet, and somehow very peaceful and calming.

“I've never seen the ocean before,” Louis admits, staring longingly at the beach

Growing up in Connecticut, far from the sea, he's never even been to a real beach.

“Well then, let’s go!” Harry tugs Louis’ elbow, leading him towards the water.

They hop over the wooden boardwalk and when their feet hit the sand, it's frozen and hard. There's still patches of snow everywhere.

Louis leans down and digs his fingers into the frozen sand, clumping it in his hands, marvelling at the unique texture. Harry watches him with a smile.

“Too bad we can't go in for a swim,” Harry comments as they approach the edge of the water, dipping the toe of his boot in.

“Sure we can, we’ll just have to deal with hypothermia afterwards, no big deal,” Louis says.

Harry laughs. “Did you know every New Year’s a bunch of people come here dressed as polar bears and dive right into the water?”

“No, what?” Louis scrunches his nose, “that's weird. New Yorkers are weird.”

Harry nudges him with a dragged out, “heeey”, and Louis giggles.

He slowly forgets to be nervous around Harry, even when the other man pulls out a phone to snap pictures of him. Louis lobs a clump of frozen sand at Harry, which turns out to be a mistake because Harry retaliated and Louis’ hair is full of sand which will be a pain to wash out.

They stroll along the boardwalk until they reach a place Harry claims makes “the best pizza in Brooklyn”. Louis hasn't tried any pizza in Brooklyn, so his expectations are low.

“Oh my god, this is so good,” Louis praises, mouth full of stringy cheese and pepperoni.

Harry nods enthusiastically, “I know, isn't it? Pizza is tough competition in New York, but this one beats them all.”

They are sitting on wooden chairs outside of the pizza shop, the light winter sun beating on their shoulders. Louis wipes tomato sauce off his nose, sneaking a sideways glance at Harry.

 _Harry is really, really attractive_ , he thinks to himself. Even with his hair flat from the salty sea air, he still looks like a prince. His cheeks are rosy and his lips are pink and his jaw is angled sharp. Louis looks away. He shouldn't be thinking that.

“You never told me anything about you,” he says, reaching for another slice of pizza, “your favourite ice cream flavor, shows or movies. I don't even know your last name.”

“Styles.”

Louis chokes. “Your name is Harry Styles?”

“Yes,” Harry pretends to sound offended, but the corner of his lip is tilting up, “what's wrong with it?”

“Nothing. Mine’s Tomlinson.”

“Louis Tomlinson,” Harry says, the name rolling off his tongue like caramel, “I like it. Better than Harry Styles.”

“Way better,” Louis agrees, “you should tell me about yourself.”

He’s genuinely curious about Harry’s past and how he ended up volunteering at a homeless shelter. He feels like Harry’s the type of person to be full of interesting stories.

“Well, I was born in Manhattan but moved to Brooklyn when I was 18 to go to NYU and major in English,” Harry begins, and Louis tries not to flinch at the mention of his dream university.

“Almost a year ago, when I was 20, my dad’s friend Barb told me she ran a homeless shelter in Brooklyn and needed some extra help one day, so I came in. I guess you could say I was surprised,” Harry admits, “honestly, I used to think of the homeless as different and distant from the rest of society, but I was wrong. Everybody at the shelter were just normal people with their own unique personalities, just like the rest of the world. They just happen to not have a place to live. It was a huge wake-up call for me, realizing I’ve misjudged a group for so long.”

Louis’ eyes are shining. “I’m glad you’ve realized.”

Harry nods. “Me too, which is why I continued volunteering at _Brooklyn’s Hope_. I really do love it there.”

“I can tell. You look at me, at all of us, like we’re regular people,” Louis tells him, “like you can see past our homeless label and at our true selves, and you don’t know how nice that is.”

That’s probably the cheesiest thing Louis’ said in a while, but it is true. And it makes Harry blush and bite back a smile.

“It’s what any decent person would do,” Harry says.

Louis shakes his head. “That’s amazing, Harry, but you still haven’t told me your favorite ice cream flavor, so get on with it.”

Harry laughs lightly. “It’s mint chocolate chip.”

“No,” Louis gasps, “you’re kidding, that’s my favorite too. I’ve found my people.”

“We’re meant to be,” Harry agrees, before a sly look takes over his face, “or should I say, _mint_ to be.”

Louis groans loudly. “Please. Never say that again.”

But if he’s secretly happy to see this funny, cheekier side of Harry, well. That’s his own business.

They finish up their pizza and head to the New York Aquarium. Harry assures Louis he doesn’t support the capture of sea animals for the enjoyment of humans, and usually never goes to aquariums, but since Louis’ never been in an aquarium he’ll make an exception.

It’s beautiful inside, with the reflection of the water tanks soaking the place with a blue hue. But whenever Louis looks inside the tank, his heart twinges for the poor creature stuck in the glass. They must yearn for the ocean, to be free, and Louis knows what that feels like. He immediately decides to boycott all aquariums after this one.

The afternoon sun is fuzzy and warm on their backs as the two exit the aquarium. Louis’ heart is light, and although the back of his mind is furiously adding up all the money Harry’s spent on him today, and he knows he’ll have to pay it back once he’s in a better position, he still doesn’t feel burdened. He’s got to spend the day with someone as lovely and caring as Harry, how could he not be happy?

Once they’re back by the beach, Harry turns to him.

“You’re coming back to _Brooklyn’s Hope_ for tonight, right?”

Louis’ heart screams yes, but he hesitates. He trusts Harry a lot more now, probably enough to call him a friend, but it’s not enough. His mind always reminds him of his parents’ betrayal, and another betrayal he experienced shortly after. He really can’t trust anybody like that again, especially not Harry. 

If Harry betrays him, Louis thinks his heart will shatter like ice.

“I can’t, I’m sorry,” he shakes his head, “I’ll come tomorrow, though.”

“Why?” Harry is frustrated, “why do you want to stay out in the cold, Lou? I’ll be so worried about you.”

Louis feels a sting of remorse, not even registering the nickname.

“I don’t need you to worry about me, Harry,” he snaps, “I’ve been doing fine for three months on my own, and I really don’t need you acting like I’m some sort of damsel in distress.” 

 _That’s too harsh,_ he knows. He knows Harry is just concerned about his safety, like any friend would be, but he doesn’t want to give in. He can’t.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” Harry rushes to say, “I didn’t mean to imply you can’t take care of yourself. I just want you to be safe and warm and… nevermind. Forget about it.”

They walk to board the bus in tense silence, and Louis’ heart slowly sinks. He’s had such a fantastic day, the most fun he’s ever had in such a long time, and now he’s ruined it with his own stupid paranoia and refusal to accept help. He doesn’t deserve someone like Harry.

With that thought, Louis promises himself not to get his heartstrings entangled with Harry’s any further.

Harry deserves so much more than Louis can ever give him.

 

* * *

 

“Welcome to Manhattan!”

Harry's voice is drowned out by the hustle and bustle around them, the traffic of people on the sidewalk just as noisy as the cars on the street. Louis has never seen so many people all at once before, not even in Brooklyn.

“This is sick!” Niall proclaims, swinging his and Zayn’s clasped hands excitedly.

“Yeah,” Louis agrees, overwhelmed.

“C’mon,” Harry beckons them onward, “I have a whole list of places I want to  show you guys today.”  

Louis doesn't know how he ended up here. His and Harry's trip to Coney Island was only two weeks ago, yet here they are hanging out again, this time with Zayn and Niall. And they're in Manhattan.

It all started yesterday night at dinner, when Harry mentioned going back to Manhattan to visit his parents. Then Niall made a comment about how he's never been there before, and Harry's eyes flashed with an idea.

“You can all come to Manhattan with me,” he said, excited, “and we can stay the night at my parents house. This is perfect, I'll get to see my parents and you guys can get a tour of Manhattan!”

Louis was about to excuse himself from the narrative completely. Spend the night at Harry's parents’ house? The thought made him squirm with nerves.

But Harry had turned to look at him with bright green eyes and a blinding white smile, and Louis finds himself nodding along, agreeing to whatever made the other man happy. Niall and Zayn were already calling out their agreements from the other side of the table.

Now that Louis’ really here, in the core of New York City, with hundreds of people clambering around him, he wonders what he's gotten himself into.

Niall and Zayn fall behind them, bickering for the third time about the large and heavy bag Niall insisted on bringing. Harry stays beside Louis, and wraps a hand around his elbow.

“Do you think they'll keep arguing for the whole day?” He asks, subtly helping Louis navigate through the crowd with the hand on his arm.

“Well, if they don't, are they really Niall and Zayn?” Louis responds, and Harry smiles.

Louis has become closer to all three of the boys over the weeks, and can safely call them all his friends. He talks to other people at the shelter as well, but he feels like himself the most around Niall, Zayn and Harry. Especially Harry.

He's accepted he has a tiny crush on Harry, but he isn't too worried about it. He saw it coming a mile away. Besides, the whole world probably has a crush on Harry, with his long curls and toned arm muscles and good smell. It would be weirder if Louis didn't feel anything for Harry, really.

But he does keep himself in check occasionally. If he finds Harry standing too close to him, or if their thighs are touching when they sit next to each other, or if Harry's presence is just too much, he'll step away.

He doesn't want to burden the other man by getting too close to him. Harry is Harry, and Louis is homeless, and that's just how it is.

Harry's hand on his elbow is sending tingles through his body, so Louis carefully removes his arm from the other man’s grip. Harry's eyebrows furrow, but if he notices Louis constantly pulling away from any kind of physical contact, he doesn't comment.

“So what's the plan, boys?” Niall catches up to them, hand-in-hand with Zayn.

 _Looks like they made up already._ Louis can’t help but grin at their cuteness.

“So, first we’ll go to my parents’ house to drop off our stuff,” Harry starts, and Louis won’t be surprised if he pulls out an actual list, “then, we’ll go see Lady Liberty, the Museum of Art, and Times Square. How does it sound?”

“Ooh, all the iconic Manhattan tour sites, I see. Sounds brilliant,” Niall says brightly.

It does, except Louis’ hands clam up when he thinks of meeting Harry’s parents. Apparently they know about him, Niall and Zayn, which means they aren’t against Harry spending his time with a group of homeless people, but Louis still can’t relax. He feels like he’s about to meet his boyfriend’s parents for the first time, which is far from the truth.

They barely manage to squish onto a subway with a crowd of New Yorkers, and Louis finds himself trapped between Harry and Zayn. He really can’t escape this time, so he spends the whole ride with his back pressed to Harry’s front, and smelling the other boy’s creamy vanilla scent. Or maybe he was smelling Zayn, he really can’t tell.

Harry’s parents live in a well-off neighbourhood, not entirely unlike the one Louis’ parents live in back in Brooklyn. As the four of them walk up the front steps, Louis wills his heart to calm down.

A woman with dark hair and a nice round face, who must be Harry’s mom Anne, opens the door.

“Hello! Come in, it’s freezing outside,” she ushers them in. 

“Hey, Mom,” Harry greets, giving the woman a big one-armed squeeze.

She smiles, hugging him back. “Hi, H. Glad to see you haven’t forgotten about us.”

“Never,” Harry plants a kiss on her forehead before letting go, “these are my friends, Niall, Zayn and Louis.”

Anne turns to the other three boys, as Harry darts off to bring all their bags to the living room.

“Lovely to meet you all,” she says warmly.

“Thank ya for having us, miss,” Niall replies cheerfully, while Zayn also nods his thanks.

“Sorry for the bother,” Louis can’t help but add quietly.

“It’s no bother at all!” Anne reassures him, “alright, shoes off, boys, and I’ve got tea and coffee in the kitchen before you head off.”

Niall hurries to do what she says, Zayn trailing behind him. Louis hesitantly toes off his shoes, not comfortable in the house of a stranger quite yet. Anne stays with him.

“Louis, right?” she says, surprising him, “I know it’s cold, but we have mint chocolate chip ice cream in the freezer if you want to help yourself. Harry told me it was your favorite.”

Louis’ heart leaps. He didn’t expect Harry to remember such a minor detail about him, much less tell his mom. Also, he, Zayn and Niall have never met Anne before, yet she knew he was Louis without Harry individually introducing them. Maybe Harry’s talked to his mom about him.

Maybe he isn’t as much of a burden to Harry as he thought.

Feeling slightly more at home, even though he shouldn’t, Louis follows Anne into the kitchen. He meets Harry’s step-dad, Robin, who is the least intimidating person in the world with a soft face and hearty laugh. Louis fills his stomach with tea and cookies, and he’s almost sad to leave the house and go outside into the cold again.

But then Harry throws an arm around his shoulders, blabbing about the history behind the Statue of Liberty, and Louis forgets about everything else.

It’s the first time the four of them have been together outside of _Brooklyn’s Hope,_ and it’s also the first time in months Louis’ gone outside without his backpack, but it feels natural. It feels natural when Niall makes a racket about too many steps halfway up the Statue of Liberty, demanding Harry carry him the rest of the way. It feels natural when Zayn refuses to stop staring at an abstract piece at the Museum of Art until Niall starts to tickle him.

It feels natural when Harry puts a hand on Louis’ back and smiles at him like he's the single flame in a world of ice and snow.

The whole day passes in a whirlwind and by the time they make it to Times Square, it's close to 8 PM. The Square is lively as ever, although most Christmas lights have been taken down.

Niall immediately points to a flashy bar. “Oh man, I haven't been clubbing since forever. Ya lads wanna go?”

Louis is about to say he's 19 and can't drink, and offer to stay outside while the rest of the boys go in, but Harry beats him to it.

“Nah, you and Zayn go, Louis and I will sit this one out,” Harry declines even though he's 21, and starts reaching for his wallet, “you need any money?”

Niall waves him off quickly, grabbing Zayn’s arm. “No, no, my boyfriend will supply all that. With a face like this, people will be lining up to buy him drinks, he's got us covered.”

They all laugh, but Harry makes sure to warn them, “be careful though, okay?”

After they promise to meet in the same spot later, the couple leaves, and Harry and Louis are left alone. It starts to snow softly, barely drifting down. Louis begins to worry; he's staying at Harry's parents’ house for the night, so he doesn't have to think about snow, but what about tomorrow? He hopes it isn't snowing in Brooklyn.

“Let's go ice skating,” Harry's voice interrupts his thoughts.

And, well, Louis doesn't have a good reason to say no to that.

They stroll to the Rockefeller skating rink, not far from Times Square. There aren't many people there because it's late. As Harry rents them skates, Louis wonders how much money he's spent on them today.

The Statue of Liberty, the art museum...it must have cost Harry a lot, even though his parents seem wealthy. Louis wonders how he'll ever pay him back.

 _Don't get used to this,_ he has to remind himself, _Harry, Niall and Zayn aren't going to stay with you forever. Once they leave, you'll have nobody to pay for your lunch or skates, nobody to care about you, and you'll have to live with that._

Thinking this way brings Louis down from the adrenaline high he's been on all day, running around Manhattan with his friends.

He still accepts the skates with a smile when Harry hands them to him, mentally adding it to his ever growing list of things he owes the other man.

“To be honest, I can't skate,” Harry says once they're on the outdoor rink.

His confession is unnecessary; from the moment he stepped onto the ice and almost slipped, Louis could tell. Harry has long Bambi legs and pigeon toes. It's actually cute.

Louis, on the other hand, has two years of skating lessons under his belt. He knows how to glide gracefully on the ice, twirl, and he knows his legs look great with skates. Harry's eyes confirm this.

“Like what you see?” Louis teases, uncharacteristically confident, calling Harry out on his staring.

The other man attempts to shove him, but ends up stumbling himself instead. Louis giggles at him.

“Shut up, you have a great body, we get it,” Harry grumbles.

And, well, that used to be true. Louis didn't lose much weight on his ass and legs after he became homeless, but he knows his ribs show when he lifts up his shirt. He knows his cheeks are sunken in and his skin is pale from malnutrition. He doesn't say this though.

“C’mon, I'll teach you how to skate,” Louis says instead, reaching for Harry's warm hand.

Harry is impossible. The man absolutely cannot skate, no matter how hard Louis tries. Harry just ends up falling and demanding to hold his hand again when he lets go. Louis, for one, is gleeful to find a flaw in the perfect human that is Harry Styles, and laughs at the other’s struggles.

After an hour of Louis skating and Harry trying not to fall, they decide to take a break. Harry runs to go get them free hot chocolate samples from a nearby vendor, and they sit together on a bench beside the rink.

“You know, you never told me,” Harry starts, his breath fogging in the air, “why you came to NYU so often.”

Louis pauses. It's not a big secret, but he feels a bit embarrassed knowing Harry saw him visit the university more than once.

“Um, it's my dream school,” he admits, “from when I found out my mom was engaged and we were moving to New York, it was the only thing I looked forward to. I read NYU pamphlets, learned about their institutions and courses, and I wanted to major in Drama so much. But after I, uh, became homeless and couldn't go anymore, I still wanted to see the campus. And I guess I just couldn't stop coming back.”

“It's not too late,” Harry tells him earnestly, “you can still go to NYU, you can still apply. You can still live your dream.”

Louis smiles weakly. Harry has too much faith in him.

“How am I going to afford that?”

“You won't be homeless forever,” Harry says surely, “you'll get a job, find a place to live… actually, Lou, I've been meaning to tell you, _Brooklyn's Hope_ offers employment cou–”

“No,” Louis cuts him off, alarm bells sounding in his head, “I don't need help finding a job, I'm fine.”

He certainly can't rely on some homeless shelter to get him back on his feet. If he's going to find a job, he'll do it on his own and with his own ability, with no help from anyone else. He refuses to believe he can’t take care of his own damn self.

“Why do you keep doing that, Louis?” Harry says, frustrated, hand reaching up to push his hair back before he realizes he has a beanie on, “every time I offer you help, you push it away. I just want to help you.”

“And I’m telling you I don’t need it,” Louis shoots back, voice rising, “I can’t depend on you for everything, Harry. My problems are my own, and I’ll solve them on my own, so quit trying to play the knight in shining armour.”

Harry frowns. “Lou, I genuinely care about you. Everybody has low points in their life, and there’s nothing wrong with having someone help you climb back up.”

But Louis shakes his head, standing up from the bench. He can’t.

Harry follows him, holding onto his shoulders to prevent him from backing up further. His voice is softer now, green eyes boring into Louis.

“Hey, it’s okay. I know there must be a reason you’re afraid to trust and depend on people,” he rubs his hands up and down Louis’ arms comfortingly, “and you don’t have to tell me why if you don’t want to. But you can trust me. I want you to know you can trust me.”

But Louis’ trust has been broken too many times, he doesn’t know if it will ever heal.

“Don’t worry about me, Harry,” he laughs self-deprecatingly, “I’m just another homeless person at the shelter, I’m not worth all of your concern.”

Harry looks like Louis just personally insulted him.

“What are you talking about, Lou? You’re much more than that, I–” he steps closer, desperate to make Louis understand, “do you know why I approached you that day at NYU? Yeah, it’s because I work at a homeless shelter and was worried about you, but it was also because I wanted to know you so bad, Louis. Everyday, you would stare up at the university with this incredulous, inspired look in your eyes. And even when some people would make rude remarks, you kept coming back. I wanted to know you, and your story.”

Louis’ breath is caught, his brain not quite comprehending what Harry’s telling him.

“You’re one of the bravest, most interesting people I know,” Harry’s hand shakily comes up, barely touching Louis’ cheek, “I wish you’d believe me.”

His hand is fuzzily warm against Louis’ cold cheek, soft against Louis’ rough, dry skin. Harry licks his lips, and even through the slowly drifting snow and haze of the moon, Louis can see the intention clear as day in those mint green eyes. Harry wants to kiss him.

But Louis doesn’t understand why.

Why would Harry want to kiss a homeless person? Why would he want to kiss anyone with more problems than he could count, an angsty personality, and trust issues? Why would he want to kiss Louis?  

 _He doesn’t,_ Louis thinks.

Harry leans in slowly, slightly, giving Louis a chance to back away. And he does. Harry’s fingers leave his cheek as he takes a step back.

“Yeah, um, wow, thanks for telling me that, Harry,” he says, lips stretching into what he hopes is a smile, “we should probably go find Niall and Zayn, it’s late.”

There’s a look of something like disappointment in Harry’s eyes, before he coughs and nods.

“Um, yes. We should.”

Louis prays he didn’t just fuck things up, but when Harry puts his skates back without glancing at him, when he starts to walk ahead of Louis instead of behind him with a guiding hand on his back, Louis knows he did.

When they meet up with their two friends, Niall is drunk off his ass and Louis has to help Zayn drag the man to the subway.

The ride back to Anne and Robin’s place is quiet and tense, and Zayn raises an eyebrow at Louis, eyes darting between him and Harry. Louis just sinks into his seat.

Niall is tucked into the bed in the guest room, and Harry offers to take the couch while Louis and Zayn sleep in the other guest room. It’s almost like they’re back at the shelter again, but the sheets are velvet and thick, and Zayn is beside Louis instead of on top.

“Did something happen between you and Harry?” Zayn whispers in the dark.

Louis doesn’t know how to tell Zayn about this, so he just whispers back, “no.”

At the time, he thought he was doing Harry a favor by rejecting the kiss. There’s no way Harry could want him and all his baggage.  

But in the dark, his mind keeps drifting back to Harry’s gentle touch on his cheek, his pink-bitten lips and rosy cheeks, and how those lips would’ve felt on Louis’ own, prodding and warm, tasting like the hot chocolate they just drank.

Dammit, maybe he should’ve let Harry kiss him after all.

 

* * *

 

Louis’ heart drops to his stomach when he sees a familiar face in the crowd.

 _What is he doing here?_ His scattered mind frantically thinks as his eyes follow the face, making sure it was really who he thought it was.

He hoped against all hope he would never see that face again, but it's unmistakably him.

“Louis? You alright?” Zayn’s voice sounds faint to his ears.

Louis shakily walks with the other boys until they’re out of the subway station and in a less crowded area. The chilly Brooklyn air slaps Louis in the face, and he realizes he has to get out of here quick, before he sees him.

“I actually gotta run,” the excuse flies out from him, “I’m… meeting my friend Liam at a cafe. Thanks for the fun day, you guys.”

Niall waves him off, “yeah, it’s been fun, Lou. See ya at _Hope_.”

Zayn looks at bit suspicious at Louis’ hasty exit, especially since the four of them have just arrived in Brooklyn.

“Alright. Be careful, Louis.”

Louis finally turns to Harry, who he hasn’t spoken to since their almost-kiss last night, and says quietly, “thanks for bringing us to Manhattan, Harry. I had fun.”

Harry looks conflicted, but sighs and says, “yeah, bye” and Louis knows that’s all he’s going to get.

The other man’s cold shoulder would hurt more if Louis isn’t so desperate to get out of the area immediately. He dances around people, backpack bouncing, shoes crunching in the light snow.

It isn't until the subway station is far behind him when Louis stops to take a breather. He leans against the display window of a hat shop, trying to organize his thoughts.

If he saw correctly, that was his _step-dad_ among the crowds at the subway station.

The same step-dad who smashed Louis’ entire life to pieces simply because he's gay.

_“Louis? Come here right now.”_

_His step-dad’s angry voice greeted him one day when he got home from a NYU orientation._

_Louis could hear his mom pleading in the kitchen, “please, I was going to tell you, please, don't hurt him…”_

_Dread had twisted in Louis’ stomach, exploding into nauseating pain when his step-dad shows him Louis’ own Facebook profile._

_It was a picture from years ago of Louis and his old boyfriend, the Facebook post happily pronouncing them “In A Relationship”._

_“Are you gay?” His step-father had asked him, spitting out the word, “are you fucking gay?!”_

_And when Louis nodded yes, his father had yelled, “get out of my house, you disgusting creature, get the fuck out right now!”_

_And Louis had never felt so hated, so disgusted at himself._

Louis blinks, shaking himself of the memories. He's been preoccupied with his friends from _Brooklyn's Hope_ these past weeks, but seeing his step-dad again floods his mind with memories from that awful day.

His hands are shaking, and not entirely from the chilly day. He looks up, paranoid every person walking by him will be his step-dad, here to strike the finishing blow on Louis.

But his step-dad is a rich businessman, and usually never comes to poor areas of Brooklyn, much less by subway. Louis’ come so far to escape him, has gotten so used to Brooklyn’s lower-class neighbourhoods, he doesn't want to live in constant fear of running into the man of his nightmares.

What would Louis’ step-dad think if they did bump into each other again? Would he laugh at the mess Louis’ life is in, or would he pity him? Or would he tell him it's exactly what he deserves?

Panicking, he pulls his hood over his head and digs out his phone. He doesn't want to bother Harry by calling him, especially after yesterday, so he dials the only other number he can.

“Hello?” Liam's voice answers from the other end.

Louis presses his back against the store window, closing his eyes.

“Liam, it's Louis. I really don't know what to do right now.”

Liam, God bless his soul, doesn't question why Louis hasn't spoken to him since their accidental lunch date and now suddenly decides to call him up, and instead asks, “what happened?” 

So Louis tells him all about how he became homeless, how he hasn't seen a trace of his step-dad in months but now he suddenly appears at the subway.

“Shh, Louis, calm down,” Liam says gently when Louis’ voice starts to pitch higher with panic, “what are the chances you'll even see him again? And if you do, what's there to be afraid of?” 

Louis chews on his lip. “I just don't want him to see how much he… hurt me, I guess? I mean he did, but I don't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing how badly he's changed my life. Oh god, I don't know.”

“He hasn't completely ruined your life, though. Sure, he's put you in a really low point, but that doesn't mean you'll be homeless forever,” Liam tells him, “you'll get a job, find an apartment, get married. He hurt you, but you can get back up.”

Louis stops listening after “get a job.” Harry also mentioned getting a job last night, and he's right. Louis can't be homeless anymore, crushed under the weight of what his step-dad has done to him. He has to get back on his feet, by himself.

He needs a job.

“Oh, Liam, you're brilliant! Thank you,” Louis exclaims, “I'm going to go find a job!”

“Wait,” Liam's voice is hasty, “only if you're ready, Louis, not because you want to prove–”

But Louis is already hanging up with another “thank you!” and then he's looking around excitedly, adrenaline rushing through him at the thought of having a real job, a place to stay, and the look on his step-dad’s face when he finds out he couldn't strike Louis down after all.

On a whim, he turns around and into the hat shop he's been leaning against. He brushes past rows of hats and to the lady behind the counter.

“Hello, are you hiring?” He asks breathlessly.

The lady looks him over. Her eyes catch on his stringy hair, messy stubble, torn and ratty clothing, and the all-telling backpack on his shoulders. Louis can sense her answer before she says it.

“No, sir,” she barely holds back her distaste.

Louis swallows, ducking his head and hurrying out of the shop. What was he thinking? Who would hire him while he looks like this?

But he shakes off the negative thoughts. He has to keep trying. Seeing his step-dad made him realize he can’t live like this forever. He has to get somewhere.

Louis runs all over Brooklyn, into every restaurant, boutique, mall he could find. He tried to fix his hair and clothes in the public restroom, tried to look put together, but he almost always got the same response.

A judgemental look.

“We’re currently not hiring.”

“You’re disturbing the customers, sir, we kindly ask that you leave.”

“You don’t match the criteria of what kind of person we’re looking for.”

Not a single place asked for his resume, contact number, anything. They won’t even give him a chance.

He might as well have the word “homeless” tattooed on his forehead. 

By the time Louis’ finally admitted defeat, the sun is barely peeking out from the horizon, and the sky is deep grey with the threat of snow. He’s hungry because he skipped lunch and dinner, and frustrated.

How will he ever find a job, rise up from homelessness, if nobody in this whole damn city will let him?

Icy wind howls in the distance, and snow crystals prickle at his face. Louis has hoped this wouldn’t happen, but it looks like another snowstorm is approaching. Maybe the soft snow in Manhattan yesterday was a warning. 

Maybe this is his punishment for hurting Harry.

Thinking about Harry leads him to think about _Brooklyn’s Hope_ . Louis knows he can be warm there, and safe, but it’s late. And, because of his desperate efforts of job hunting, he isn’t in his usual neighbourhood. He’s deeper into the heart of Brooklyn, further from the Bridge, NYU and _Brooklyn’s Hope._

After running around all day, he doesn’t have the energy to walk anymore.

Louis collapses against the brick wall of a shop, curling up tightly so all he can see are people’s legs and feet rushing past him. His ass is cold on the ground, his face and hands stiff and numb.

 _You deserve this,_ he tells himself harshly, _you made Harry feel unwanted and sad and you can’t even find a job by yourself. You can’t do anything right._

Maybe Harry hates him now. His heart numbs at the thought.

Louis has never felt so defeated and devastated and tired. Tears form in the corner of his eyes and he buries his head into his arms. He hasn’t cried since his first month of being homeless, when crying was all he did. He hasn’t let himself shed a single tear.

But now, crushed by the weight of his failures and wrongdoings and his whole miserable life, he sobs into his sleeves. It feels like his tears freeze before they even drip off his face.

It starts to genuinely snow now, and Louis barely has enough strength to pull his blanket out of his backpack. Every blow of the wind feels like a stab of a knife, his own icy tears piercing into his cheeks.

Louis has half a mind to get up and walk, move, something, before he freezes to death, but he’s completely lost feeling in both his feet. This time, there isn’t a heater behind his back keeping him warm, just a solid brick wall.

Snowflakes dance in front of his eyes, beautiful and elegant, riding along the back of the wind. So beautiful, and so, so cold.

So cold, but Louis just sits there and takes it.

The world is a wintry blend. He doesn’t know how long he sits there, doesn’t know how many people rush past him, not sparing him a single glance, not noticing how he is slowly turning into an ice statue, with ice skin and bones and blood.

He can’t even feel the snow hit his skin anymore. He thinks he might have turned into snow himself.

He can’t move now if he tried, but he doesn’t mind.

“Louis!” A voice shatters like ice around him.

“Louis, oh my god, are you okay? Louis, can you hear me?”

Louis blinks open his eyes, which he hadn’t realize he closed, but his vision is still blurry and white. He also didn’t realize he’s lying on the ground, his blanket around his waist and flapping in the wind.

“Oh my god,” the voice keeps saying shakily, “how could this happen? Louis, baby, are you okay?”

Someone is shaking his shoulders, shaking the snow off his body. Louis tries to open his mouth and tell this person that he’s fine, he doesn’t mind being an ice human, but his mouth is numbed stiff.

“Okay, okay, I’m going to get you warm, okay?” The voice says reassuringly, “you’re gonna be okay.”

Strong hands sneak under his back and wrap around his legs, picking him up bridal-style. He must be heavy, especially since his bones are ice.

A calming vanilla scent drifts towards Louis, and he thinks, _Harry?_ But it can’t be Harry; Harry hates him.

Louis is set gently down in a leather seat, artificial heat swelling up around him. For a second, he’s afraid he’ll melt.

As the car starts driving, a warm, soft hand reaches over to lace around his ice fingers. Louis changes his mind. He won’t mind melting if he gets to hold this person’s hand a little while longer.

When he falls asleep, he dreams of white.

 

* * *

 

Louis wakes up, and his first thought is to check his backpack and make sure nothing was stolen.

But then he sees where he is, and it’s the last place he expected to be.

He knows what happened last night. He was sleepy, tired, but not drunk. He recalls sitting out in the blizzard, too exhausted and cold to move, and someone carrying him to their car and driving off.

Last night, he didn’t think it was Harry, but now that he considers it, who else could it have been?

He expected to wake up in the stiff bed and spacey dorm of _Brooklyn’s Hope_ , because that’s where Harry should’ve taken him. 

But instead, he’s in a bedroom. A real bedroom. The covers around him are white and thick, and the mattress is soft as cotton. Posters of 80’s bands clung to the grey walls, and huge textbooks and stacks of notes are littered around a small desk.

Harry’s room, for sure.

Louis sits up in the bed, and he’s still in his clothes, minus his jacket and shoes. His clothes are a bit damp, but he’s glad Harry didn’t strip him completely.

His skin is itchy and lukewarm, and he feels like a piece of frozen meat that didn’t thaw properly. But at least he isn’t cold.

The door creaks open, surprising Louis, and Harry looks just as surprised to see him awake. He has a steaming bowl in one hand.

“Lou, how are you feeling?” He asks, coming beside the bed, “I brought you chicken noodle soup with carrots..”

Louis shakes his head, watching Harry place the bowl on a table next to the bed.

“Why am I here? Why didn’t you take me to the shelter?”

“It was 10 PM, Louis, the shelter was closed,” Harry frowns, “and it was so cold outside and you were just lying there—god, I was so scared.”

Louis’ eyes widen. Was he really sitting out there for that long?

“No way,” he scoffs, “you’re making it sound like I almost died or something.”

Harry laughs disbelievingly. “Are you serious? Like you almost died? You did almost die, Louis! Your lips were blue and your eyelids were red and your face was pale as a sheet and there was layers and piles of snow on your clothes. You were fucking limp on the ground, and you’re telling me it’s no big deal?”

“Yes!” Louis cries, “it’s no big deal, and I can take care of myself without you trying to save me all the time.”  

“You can’t keep doing this, Louis,” Harry rubs a hand over his face, sitting down on the floor beside Louis’ bed, “you can’t keep acting like everything is fine and you don’t need anyone in your life. Even the bravest, strongest people need someone. You almost froze to death last night, and you still want to be on your own?”

Louis reaches for the soup, letting the burning bowl on his hands comfort him. He knows what Harry’s saying and he gets it. But he can’t.

“Why are you so afraid,” Harry presses gently, “to trust people and let them help?”

 

Louis takes a deep breath. There’s a story he holds close to his heart, has never told anyone, because it exposes his biggest vulnerability. 

But if anyone, Harry deserves to know. And he's ready as he'll ever be to tell him.

“A week after I was kicked out of my house,” he begins quietly, “I was so scared and lonely, and I didn’t know what to do. Another homeless man called Samuel approached me. He was around my age, and was so friendly, lending me an extra sleeping bag. We became friends instantly, bonding over our shared lifestyles.

I was so happy to have made a friend and not be homeless by myself. Sam and I would perform acapella duets together on the street, and some people tossed us some change. We split the little money every day, and I was thinking ‘wow, if we keep doing this and making a bit of money every day, we don’t even need a house. Not when we have each other.’”

Louis shakes his head now at his past naivety, and Harry reaches to squeeze his wrist comfortingly. His brows are scrunched, like he doesn’t want to hear how the story ends.

“After almost a month of doing that, we both had a decent amount of money, but definitely not enough to buy gourmet meals everyday or even rent a motel for a week. We both went to sleep one night, but when I woke up in the morning, Samuel was gone and so was all the money in my backpack.”

Harry chews his lip anxiously while Louis continues.

“I tried to find him, but Brooklyn is big and he just ditched. I really thought we were friends, that we were in this together, but obviously not. Maybe he did want to be just friends at first, but when we started making money he realized he valued that more. I was so betrayed and hurt, especially since the wounds of my step-dad hurting me were so fresh.”

Louis sighs, taking a sip from his soup and setting it down, feeling like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders.

“I can’t believe I just told you that. I haven’t told anybody about Sam.”

“Lou, I had no idea,” Harry looks genuinely horrified at himself, “I’m so sorry. Sam, he’s such an asshole, I-I don’t know what to say. All this time I kept yelling at you about not trusting people and I didn’t know–”

“It’s not your fault, Harry,” Louis cuts in immediately when he hears the other man start to blame himself, “I didn’t tell you. And you’re right, I do have trust issues and I’m stubborn as fuck. I’m the one who should be sorry. It’s not your fault.”

Standing up, Harry sits down on the bed to face Louis, taking a hold of both his hands, warmed already from the soup.

“I should’ve been more understanding,” he looks pained, “life has been so unfair to you, Lou.”

“It is what it is,” Louis shrugs, “and there’s people out there far worse off than me. You don’t have to worry about me so much.”

“But I do,” Harry rubs his thumbs over Louis’ hands, biting his lip, “I only worry about you. I don’t care about anyone else, as long as you’re safe, then nothing else matters.”

Heat rushes up to Louis’ face and he sputters, “What? What are you saying?”

Harry looks conflicted, his throat bobbing. Then, to Louis’ absolute shock, he brings both of Louis’ hands up to his mouth, lightly kissing over his knuckles, gentle as if he was smelling a flower.

“I can’t help it. I like you so much,” Harry whispers into his skin, “you always push me away, but I can’t stay away from you. I can’t stop caring about you, thinking about you, Lou.”

Louis is absolutely gobsmacked. Harry fills the silence with more words.

“On the days when you don’t come to the shelter, god, I drive myself crazy thinking about what could happen to you. And yesterday when I saw you on the streets I almost forgot how to breathe. I just want to protect you and help you and keep you safe because you deserve it. And when you don’t let me, Lou, I get so frustrated because I care about you. I really do.”

Louis doesn’t understand. Maybe he died last night and went to heaven because in what world can someone like Harry Styles possibly like him?

Harry seems to take his muteness the wrong way, and lets go of his hands to climb off the bed, standing and tugging at his hair.

“Nevermind,” he doesn’t look Louis in the eye, “I already knew from that night in Manhattan you don’t want me like that anyways. It doesn’t change a word I said, though.”

His words prickle at Louis’ heart and he shakes his head. Harry’s wrong. Of course Louis likes him, has liked him ever since his first day at _Brooklyn’s Hope._ But he’s never dwelled on his feelings, never thought there was a flying chance in hell Harry would like him back.

He keeps dwelling on how Harry’s lips would have tasted if he let the kiss happen that night, and he really hopes he isn’t dreaming right now.

“You do?” Louis manages to squeak, his hands empty without Harry holding them, “you really like me?”

“Yes. More than yes,” Harry responds immediately, finally looking at him, “you’re the strongest, most beautiful person I’ve met, Louis. I like you more than you know.”

An inexplicable warmth spreads from Louis’ chest all the way until his toes, melting his insides in the best way. He can’t help but smile.

“I like you too, Harry,” he giggles nervously, “Of course I do.” 

A look of pure awe and hope blooms across Harry’s face, and he looks like the first beautiful flower of spring after a long winter of snow.

“You like me?” His smile is honey, eyes wide and happy, reaching to grab Louis’ hands again, “say it again, Lou. You like me?”

“Yeah, Harry,” Louis rolls his eyes, but Harry’s happiness is infectious, “I like you. A lot.”

Next thing he knows, Harry’s tackled him so his back is pressed against the mattress, his wrists pinned by stronger hands on either side of his head. Harry’s hovering on top of him, curls hanging over his face and casting shadows over his sharp features. Louis can see the gold specks in his green eyes.

He licks his lips nervously, and Harry’s eyes track the motion.

“I want to kiss you, can I?” Harry asks.

Louis just nods, overwhelmed by the change in mood. He had reasons for avoiding Harry’s kiss in Manhattan, but he can’t for the life of him remember what they were, not when Harry’s staring at him like he’s gold.

Their lips meet, and Harry tastes exactly how Louis thought he would. Like vanilla and minty toothpaste. His lips are warm and soft from being anxiously bitten earlier, and feel like velvet against Louis’ mouth. Harry’s mouth pushes insistently, kissing him deeper and harder, hands rubbing circles into Louis’ wrists, and he can’t do anything but let Harry take the lead. 

They pull apart to breathe, and Harry grins at Louis’ red face.

“You're so cute,” he says, bending down to kiss Louis’ nose

He scrunches up his nose and shakes free from Harry's hold before he could be kissed again, sitting up on the bed and throwing his legs over the edge. He doesn't know what time it is, but he's probably overstayed his welcome. 

Harry watches in confusion as Louis crosses the room and heads straight for his backpack in the corner.

“Where are you going?”

“Oh. Thank you so much for bringing me to your house last night, Harry,” Louis smiles at him sincerely, “I owe you for that. But anyways, I should get going. More job hunting to do.”

“Job hunting?” Harry stands in front of the door, blocking Louis’ exit, “you're looking for jobs on your own?”

“Who else would I go with?” Louis asks.

Harry crosses his arms, leaning against the door. “Lou, if you're serious about finding a job I'm more than happy to support you. But I was telling you the other day about the employment services we have at _Brooklyn's Hope_ , and the counsellors specifically help the homeless find jobs. I think it'd be good if you spoke to one of them.”

“Not this again,” Louis groans, head in his hands, “Harry, I just told you exactly why I have trouble trusting and depending on people, and you're telling me to ask a random person to help find me a pity job?”

“No, this is different,” Harry pleads, “I'm not Samuel, I care about you more than just a friend. I would never leave you or use you.”

Deep inside his heart, Louis knows that. But his mind and his heart are always disagreeing.

“I can't,” he says, quiet, “you can't just kiss me once and expect me to have utmost faith and dependency on you. I like you, Harry, but I can't let anyone do this for me. You've already done so much for me, please let me find a job on my own.”

Harry sighs, shaking his head. “I know, Lou, and I want to earn your trust over time but...there's no time. If you don't talk to these employment counsellors soon, then _Brooklyn's Hope_ will shut down–”

Ice trickles over Louis’ body, freezing him still.

 _Brooklyn's Hope_ will _what_?

“What did you say?” Louis’ voice is paper thin.

Harry hangs his head guiltily, regretting his words.

“I...I was going to tell you, but I didn't know how you'd take it. Zayn and Niall just found out yesterday too,” he squeezes his eyes shut.

“ _Brooklyn's Hope_ is closing down in two weeks. We're out of funds.”

The words hit Louis like blades, not dissimilar to the blizzard last night. His knees start to tremble, like someone just poured a bucket of ice water down his back.

“Wh-what do you mean out of funds?” He tries to keep his voice steady, pretending his heart isn't completely devastated.

If _Brooklyn's Hope_ shuts down, where will he go? Where will Zayn and Niall go? Will they ever see each other again?

“The shelter is a non-profit shelter that belongs to a bigger organization, and it runs on mostly donations,” Harry explains, “and Barbara, she's getting old. She has no time to host any events, so nobody knows about the shelter and nobody is donating. We were low on funds for a long time, but Barb refused to cut down the quality of the services.”

Louis doesn't know why he's shaking so much, why his heart feels like a crumpled up piece of paper. He keeps thinking of the shelter, abandoned and empty, and he feels sick.

“Why didn't you tell me earlier?” His voice starts to rise, “why didn't we do anything?”

“We can't do anything!” Harry counters, “Barb accepted some rich man’s offer to buy the building a month ago.”

“Who?” Louis demands, aching for someone to blame.

“I don't know, uh, his name was Alex Ford? Something like that.”

Louis’ heart stops. 

Alex Ford. Fucking _Alex Ford._

“My step-dad,” his voice is barely audible.

“What?” Harry says incredulously, stepping closer to him, “no, your last name is Tomlinson, not Ford.” 

“I didn't change my last name,” Louis swallows bile rising in his throat, “my mom did, she's Lisa Ford, but I didn't. Oh god, my step-dad is buying _Brooklyn’s Hope._ ”

It makes sense why he saw him in the subway now, why he's in this part of town. Probably to negotiate about the building.

Louis feels the need to laugh hysterically. That man has taken everything from him, and now he's taking this too. He can't believe it.

Harry's hands are on his shoulders, pulling him close. “Hey, Louis, it's okay. It doesn't matter who's buying the building. And you don't have to worry, there's other shelters to stay at. Or you, Niall and Zayn can stay with m–”

“No,” tearing away from Harry's grip, Louis pulls at his hair, “I can't just sit around and let _Brooklyn's Hope_ shut down and handed over to my monster of a step-dad!”

He grabs his jacket, neatly folded on the table, and his shoes on the floor, slipping past Harry and out the room. Harry follows him. 

“Wait, Lou, whatever you're going to do, let me help,” his voice begs. 

“So now you want to help? Why didn't you help a week ago?” Louis’ voice is full of accusation, “no thanks, Harry. For the millionth time, I don't need your help.”

He stamps on his damp shoes and pulls the front door of Harry's flat open, but Harry's hand reaches above him to slam it shut.

“Listen, you can't go running around alone again, not after last night. Just tell me where you're going and I'll drive you.”

 _As if._ Louis was right about depending too much on _Brooklyn's Hope_ , and now it was being taken away from him. Harry will be the same, sooner or later. Louis has to get away.

He looks Harry dead in the eye. “If you're not going to save _Brooklyn's Hope_ , then I will.”

And then he's out the door, ignoring Harry's protests behind him. Burning determination courses through him, and he doesn't even notice the frigid morning air around him.

He knows where he has to go.

He doesn't know why he's so passionate, so desperate to save the shelter. Maybe he doesn't want to be cold and hungry without it. Maybe it's for Zayn and Niall's sake.

Or maybe it's because, somewhere along the way, _Brooklyn's Hope_ has started to feel like home.

 

* * *

 

By the time Louis reaches Cobble Hill, the dull sun is low in the sky and it’s afternoon.

He stops in front of a huge, tall white townhouse. He hasn’t been here since he was kicked out. Hasn’t even been close to this rich neighbourhood.

Gulping down a wave of fear and panic, Louis tentatively walks up the steps of his former home, wondering if he’s out of his damn mind.

Just yesterday he was panicking about seeing his step-dad, and now he’s standing right at his worst nightmare’s doorstep.

_“Don’t you ever fucking come back, you hear me? Don’t ever bring your faggot ass back here!”_

But he has to talk to Alex again. Has to convince him to drop his offer on buying _Brooklyn’s Hope_ , that way Harry or Barbara or _someone_ might believe there’s still a chance to save it, that there’s still hope left in _Brooklyn’s Hope._

“Hey, Alex,” Louis mumbles experimentally to himself before shaking his head, “no, no. Hi, dad, fuck you. No. I need you to drop your offer on _Brooklyn’s Hope_ because if you don’t, I’ll be more homeless than I already am. And also, fuck you.”

Louis sighs, burying his face in his palm. He really doesn’t know what he’s doing or what he’ll say. He’s just going to go for it.

Holding his breath, he rings the doorbell quickly. The seconds tick by and Louis’ heart thumps hard with suspense, bruising his ribcage.

The door opens, and Louis sees his mom.

Her face, infinitely more old and tired than Louis remembers, immediately crumples, a hand coming up to push back a sob. Her blue eyes skate over him, taking in every detail like he's just a dream, could disappear any second.

“Louis,” her shaking hands reach out for him, “oh my god, you’re...you’re here.”

As soon as she makes contact with his arm, she pulls him in fiercely into a tight hug. Louis gasps in surprise, almost tripping over the doorstep. He feels wet tears on his neck.

“I’m so sorry. Oh, Louis, you don’t know how sorry I am,” her words are jumbled in between heaving sobs, “oh, my poor baby. I never should’ve let you go, or I should’ve gone with you, but I left you alone. I texted you but you didn't reply, so I thought something happened, oh god. I hate myself everyday for letting you leave. I hate myself.” 

Louis’ chest hurts. He knows his mom isn’t guilt-free, and she could’ve divorced Alex as soon as she found out he was a homophobic monster, and she and Louis could’ve gotten a cheap flat together. He knows this but he also knows she was afraid. Scared of Alex’s wrath, of losing the wealth and status that came from being with him.

She didn’t want to give up her life for Louis, and honestly, can he blame her for that?

“Okay, Mom,” he pats her back, “it’s okay, you made your choice, and I understand.”

She pulls back, cupping Louis’ face in her hands, eyes blurry and cheeks wet. “No, my son, I made the wrong choice. It was so sudden, I didn’t know what to do. And this whole time I thought you were...I thought you were hurt or worse, I just–”

“Don’t worry about it, Mom,” he says genuinely, “I know it was hard for you, and I don’t hate you. You’re my mother, I just want you to live a good life.”

Lisa sobs, stroking Louis’ hair, “Lou, oh son, I would tell you to come in, I want you to come in but–”

“Lisa? Who’s at the door?”

An all too familiar voice from inside the house makes Louis and his mom both go stock still. Sounds of footsteps down the stairs can be heard, and Lisa casts panicked eyes at her son.

“Louis, baby, you have to go right now. Alex is here, you can’t let him see you.”

Louis is about to agree and make a bolt for his life, when he remembers his real reason here. The shelter. He looks his mom dead in the eyes.

“No. I’m not running from him anymore.”

She tries to close the door, but Louis sticks his foot inside to keep it open.

“No, Louis, you have to leave!” She’s yelling now, “go!”

“What’s going on out here?”

A shadow appears behind Lisa, and Louis shifts his gaze to make eye contact with the man who cast his life to hell, who sentenced him to a cold death on the streets without blinking an eye.

Alex looks the same. Creases on his forehead, a stiff and angled nose, thin lips and narrowed eyes, blond hair that resembles Donald Trump’s. He’s wearing a suit, because businessmen always wear suits, and it looks like he’s gained weight.

He stares at Louis like he’s a rat trying to crawl under his door.

“You. I told you to never come back,” he spoke menacingly, pushing Lisa away to face Louis.

Louis squares his shoulders, even as cold sweat drips down his back.

“I’m just here to ask for a favor. That building you’re planning to buy, that homeless shelter called _Brooklyn’s Hope_ , please don’t buy it. The place means a lot to many people and they’d be lost without it.” His voice is calmer than he feels.

Alex stays quiet before barking out a laugh, crossing his arms and bending down to Louis’ level patronizingly.

“You’ve got some fucking nerve, boy, coming back to my house and making demands,” Alex points a finger at him, “if I want to buy that shithole of a place, I damn will. Got it?”

Louis isn’t backing down so easily. “If you drop the offer, we might still be able to raise money and keep the shelter open. It helps a lot of people, and just, have a heart, will you?”

“Oh, I do have a heart, just not for people like you,” Alex spits, his finger jabbing into Louis’ chest, icy and cold, “why are you so concerned about this shelter, anyway, huh? Your little homeless friends go there? Meet your homeless gay boyfriend there?”

Louis shakes his head, feeling ice cold despair and anger wash over his veins. How can someone be so horrible? His step-dad never treated him like this before he found out he was gay, but that one little detail changed everything.

Alex continues to stare at Louis, daring him to say something. Lisa’s cries of “no, please” and her desperate tugs on her husband’s arm doesn’t affect him at all.

“Please,” Louis’ voice finally cracks, “please, Alex, just leave _Brooklyn’s Hope_ alone. I won’t ask for anything from you again, but please.”

The older man leans closer, his eyes are hard as stone.

“Listen to me, boy. I don’t give a damn about _Brooklyn’s Hope_. I will turn that place into a garbage factory for all I care. Now, if you ever dare bring your ass onto my property again, I will make sure you leave with a broken bone. Get out.”

That’s all Louis can bear. He spins around, tripping down the steps, vaguely registering his mom’s cries of his name. Frosty air nips at his nose, as if his encounter with his step-dad wasn’t cold enough already. His vision blurs, but he doesn’t want to cry. Doesn’t want Alex’s empty words to be the reason behind his frozen cheeks anymore.

He honestly doesn’t know what he expected. That his step-dad had a sudden change of heart over the past three months? He’ll magically just agree to not buy _Brooklyn’s Hope_?

Whatever he expected, he was clearly wrong. Going back to his step-dad’s house gained him nothing except new holes in his heart.

 _Brooklyn’s Hope_ is still in danger, and Louis doesn’t know how to fix it.

Night washes over the city like a dark blanket, except instead of being warm like a blanket, the night is cold and crisp. Louis’ back in familiar territory now, away from Cobble Hill. His phone buzzed in his pocket a few times, but he doesn’t check it. It’s probably Harry, but Louis isn’t quite ready to face him yet.

The streets are teeming with life, as per usual, all the noisy sounds of New York like a playlist to Louis’ life now, always in the background wherever he goes. He looks at the people around him, at the smiles on their faces, and wishes he had a reason to smile like that.

And whenever he walks through this busy downtown section, he always feels eyes on him.

Not just judgemental stares from passersby, although he gets plenty of those too. But the stares of other homeless people who watch him curiously from their hideaways between buildings. 

Louis tries to ignore them like he normally does, walking a little faster with a hand on his backpack. But then he feels a small tug on his shirt and looks down to see a little girl.

“Mister, are you cold?” She asks with a lisp, her front teeth missing.

She can’t be older than five or six, with a head of puffy, brown hair and toffee skin. Her clothes are worn and torn, just like Louis’, and she’s skinny.

Louis’ heart breaks. This little girl is homeless.

“No, I’m not cold,” he says softly, squatting down, “where’s your mom, dear?”

The little girl points at a nearby alley, wide and full of garbage cans.

“She’s there, with Eddy, Jonas, Daisy, Patrick and Nancy,” she lists cutely, eyebrows scrunching as she recalls the names, “and Mama said I shouldn’t wander out alone, but I saw you and you looked like one of us and you was shivering, so I was worried.”

Louis melts at her innocent, pure kindness. Children like her shouldn’t be out here in a world like this. She should have a big, warm house to call home, not a dark alleyway.

“Thank you, darling, but I’m not cold,” Louis lies, smile wobbly, “now, go back to your mom, I’m sure she’s worried sick about you.”

Just then, a figure starts rushing towards them from the direction of the alleyway, dodging around people. It’s a woman with worried eyes, running toward the little girl.

“Molly, what have I told you about running off like that?” She cries, picking the girl up with a swoosh.

Molly giggles, “I know, Mama, but this mister looked cold. Can he stay with us for the night, Mama?”

The little girl’s mother looks up at Louis, who immediately holds his hands up and shakes his head.

“Oh, no, no. That’s fine, I don’t want to be a bother,” he says nervously.

But the girl’s mother smiles. “Please, do stay with us. It’s supposed to hit 15 degrees tonight, and snow. My friends have food and blankets in the back, they won’t mind if you join.”

Louis still feels uneasy. He hasn’t spent time with any homeless people outside of the shelter other than Sam, and that time didn’t go well.

Molly starts bouncing eagerly in her mom’s arms. “Yes, mister, please come! Eddy’s going to tell us funny stories tonight!”

And that’s what makes Louis give in; the excitement in her face, completely undeterred by the harsh, unforgiving reality that swirls around all three of them.

“Alright,” and with that, he follows the mother and daughter to their alley.

Darkness swallows him up whole as soon as he steps into the narrow passage. It smells awful, like wet trash, and the ground is slushy and brown. Louis becomes more hesitant as they walk further into the alley. What if this was a trick? What if they’re luring him in here to steal his stuff.

But then he hears voices and they approach a group of five or six people, sitting on blankets and fold-up chairs. They’re all homeless.

“He’s going to join us tonight,” Molly’s mother says to the group, gesturing at Louis, “what’s your name?”

“Louis.”

He feels a bit awkward, like he’s asking to sit with a group of kids at lunch in middle school. But everybody smiles at him, throwing out “hi” and “welcome”s and getting him a blanket to sit on. They introduce themselves, and Louis realizes these are the exact names Molly told him earlier. 

“Here, Louis, have some tuna,” the man with a long brown beard, Eddy, holds out a can, “we got crackers too, if ya want ‘em.”

“Thanks,” Louis accepts the can in awe.

He can’t believe these people are willingly giving him food and blankets from the goodness of their hearts. And to think he was worried they were going to steal from him.

Daisy passes him a hand warmer, and as the night goes on, the temperature keeps dropping lower and lower. But Eddy is telling funny stories and doing impersonations, making everyone in the group, especially Molly, double over with laughter. And Louis, sitting there with his hand warmer and borrowed blanket, realizes he’s not cold. Not at all.

This whole time he avoided people on the streets, completely ignored their existence, convinced they were only after his money and supplies, when people like this existed. People who accept him, help him, keep him warm without a single question. People who aren't like Sam.

He thinks about the man who asked to share his blanket a few weeks ago, and he feels so guilty.

“You know, there's this homeless shelter called _Brooklyn's Hope_ not far away,” Louis brings up mid-conversation, “I think you guys will like it there.”

“ _Brooklyn's Hope?_ ” Patrick frowns, his bushy eyebrows scrunching up, “never heard of it.”

“Oh, it's great,” Louis gushes, “they have the best food and bathrooms, and their mattresses are fine. We should all go soon, it's–”

_It's closing down in a couple of weeks._

Louis trails off, words falling flat. He almost forgot, _Brooklyn's Hope_ isn't going to be around much longer.

And not only will it hurt him and his friends, but he's just now realizing how many other people it will affect. The tens of people who rely on the shelter to survive, the thousands who could potentially rely on the shelter, but will never get a chance, like the people he's sitting with right now.

“Louis, man, you okay?” Patrick asks, waving a hand in front of his face.

Louis nods, but he's already retreating into his mind. He thinks of how many lives the shelter could help or save, how many lives it would impact if it closes down. By the time the group calls it a night, and Louis snuggles into a thick cotton blanket, trying to fall asleep, he's came to one conclusion.

He _needs_ to save _Brooklyn's Hope._

The thing is, he might not be able to do it on his own.

 

* * *

 

_Where are you?_

_I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Brooklyn's Hope_

_Zayn has a job interview this week and Niall has one too later so you don't have to worry about them_

_Tell me where you are and I'll pick you up it's cold_

_Louis!!!_

He flicks through Harry’s text messages, shoes crunching on rocks and snow on the sidewalk. People scurry by him, in a hurry to get to work, breaths fogging in the bitter morning air.

Louis had just bid farewell to Molly and the group he spent the night with, promising they’ll meet up again at _Brooklyn’s Hope._ He’s on his way to the shelter now, hoping to catch Niall and Zayn before they leave.

Suddenly, Louis catches a flash of black in the corner of his eye, but when he turns around, all he sees behind him are crowds of people decked in colorful coats.

Feeling a drip of unease, he walks faster, fingers flying over his phone. Maybe he should take up Harry’s offer after all.

_I’m at Crown Heights Boulevard, near the library._

His phone flashes a low battery warning just as he sends the text. He’s about to put the phone back into his pocket, sure Harry won’t see the message right away, but then he feels a buzz.

_Ok, stay right there, I’ll be there in 5 minutes._

How on earth Harry could respond so quickly and get here in 5 minutes, Louis doesn’t know. But he obeys, stopping as he rounds a corner and leaning against a building to wait for Harry.

He takes a deep breath, reviewing the ideas he came up with last night. A rough, vague plan had started to form shape in his mind, a way to raise more money and save _Brooklyn’s Hope_ , but he can’t put it into place by himself.

He needs help. This time he genuinely needs help.

And he knows exactly who to call too, but he’s still hesitant, doesn’t want to be a bother.

Louis sighs, and he’s about to pull out his phone, when he hears footsteps behind him, too loud and too close to be someone just passing by.

Before he can turn around, a strong hand clamps around his mouth, jerking his whole body towards a narrow alley.

Louis immediately starts to squirm and resist, but the person behind him has a hold of his arms. He tries to kick his legs, but only manages to lose a shoe. He sinks his teeth into the hand on his mouth, but that earns him a hard kick in the leg, making him whimper.

As he’s pulled further into the alley, and his desperate twists and bucks in attempts to get away have no avail, he feels the claw of icy panic snake its fingers around his heart.

He doesn’t want to die. Not like this.

He’s released and shoved hard into the wall as soon as they reach three other men hiding in the alley. Louis’ groans, head dizzy from hitting the wall, and a dark face looms close to his own.

“Let me make this simple. I’m going to need your bag,” the man sneers at him, “and any valuables you got on you.”

Louis shakes his head vigorously, pressing harder against the wall to protect the backpack on his shoulders.

The man’s face morphs into anger. “I’m going to repeat myself; give me your bag, or my pals and I will do much worse than smack you against a wall.”

As he says this, his hands comes up to wrap around Louis’ neck, making him cough. With watery eyes, Louis looks around at the other three men around him, and he gasps in shock as his eyes land on a particular face.

Tall, skinny, drooping eyes and a long face. His beard is longer, and his hair is different, but Louis recognizes him instantly.

“Sam,” he rasps out, knees weak.

His former friend looks at him without emotion, not a twinge of compassion or guilt, almost like he doesn’t recognize him. Louis’ old wounds open up again, numbing his chest with painful stinging.

“No, no, let me go,” he squirms in the burly man’s hold, “please, Sam—I, please don’t do this. Let me go. 

Sam’s already taken from him once, and now he’s going to do it again. Louis can't let that happen. 

“Alright, you son of a bitch,” the man holding him tightens his grip on his neck, “if you want to do this the hard way–”

_“Louis!”_

A voice yells, echoing off the walls of the alley, and Louis’ heart drops.

“No, Harry! Don’t come back here!”

But his warning comes too late, and Harry’s running towards them, the light from the opening behind him casting a shadow over his face. He has Louis’ lost shoe in his hand. Taking one look at the situation, his features harden. 

“Let go of him, now,” Harry demands, voice lower than Louis’ ever heard it.

The man beside Sam scoffs, “and what are you gonna do if we don’t?”

“I don’t want any fucking trouble. I’ll even give you money,” Harry steps closer, “if you just let him go.”

Tears are building up in Louis’ eyes now, threatening to spill over. He doesn’t want Harry to be mixed up in this, to end up getting hurt because Louis wasn’t careful enough.

“No, Harry, just go,” he half sobs, “leave me here, I’ll be fi–”

“Oh, you shut up, annoying little cunt,” the man pulls him forward and slams him into the wall so hard, Louis’ whole world shakes and he feels wetness at the back of his head.

Something in the air snaps, and Harry charges forward, landing a heavy punch right on the side of Louis’ captor’s head. The other men immediately spring into action, sights set on Harry. Louis is left alone and he slowly slides down the wall, vision still fuzzy and spinning.

“Louis,” Harry manages to shout even as the other men land their own punches on him, “run, Louis! I already called the police, just run!”

But even though Harry is strong and nails a couple members of the homeless gang hard blows in the stomachs, he’s still one person against four others. A pound to the head makes him stagger, and the other men take the opportunity to push him down to the ground, kicking at him with their feet.

“No, Harry!” Louis cries, his heart ripping apart as he watches the gang continuously hit and beat the kindest, best person he knows.

Louis crawls over to him, the back of his head still bleeding from hitting the wall, and squeezes in between the legs of the men. He can’t let them hurt Harry, would rather die than watch them hurt Harry.

He drapes his entire body over Harry’s, protecting the other man from the kicks and punches coming in from all around them. He feels Harry shift, hears him say “what, Lou” and try to get him off, but Louis stays.

“Ha, look at this!” One of the men above them holler, “this fag is tryna protect the other one! How fucking cute.”

That only makes them kick harder, and Louis squeezes his eyes shut as he feels blow after blow into his ribs, his back and the side of his head. He’s dizzy, and slowly losing consciousness because of the pain, but he can’t let them hurt Harry. He feels his backpack being ripped open, its contents spilling out and snatched, but he doesn’t even care anymore.

Police sirens ring in the distance, and Louis hears mumbles of “oh shit” above him and pattering sound of footsteps running away. He finally rolls over, releasing Harry and sliding onto the ground next to him.

His eyes are blurred with tears and blood and there’s intense pain on one of his ribs. He tries to breathe, tries to focus his vision, but he can’t.

Harry’s crying out his name, crouching beside him, hands on either side of his face. Cold tears fall onto his face and neck, and he wants to tell Harry not to cry, that he protected him because he wanted to.

Because Louis finally trusts Harry. Trusts him with his whole heart.

Harry, who ran into the alley to save him without a second thought. Harry, who helps him through the coldest, darkest times in his life. Harry, who makes him smile and forget about the world, makes him feel like the one blooming flower in the middle of December.

He wants to tell Harry all this, but by the time he opens his mouth and the police are rushing in, Louis’ already gone.

 

* * *

  

The world around him is white, and for a minute Louis thinks it’s snow.

But then his hands clutch around a soft blanket, and his head rolls around a puffed pillow, and he realizes it’s a hospital room.

There’s bandages on his forehead, a mild throbbing in his side, and his head feels like it’s full of water. But other than that, he feels fine.

When he tries to shift more and look around, he realizes there’s a weight on his legs. A mop of chocolate curls rests on top of his thighs, the rest of Harry’s body leaning awkwardly on the bed from the folding chair he’s sitting on. 

Louis smiles warmly, heart buzzing with relief that Harry doesn't have a hospital room of his own.

He pokes the top of his curly head, causing Harry to grunt sleepily. Louis wonders how long he's been here for.

He runs his hand through Harry's soft hair, messing it up until Harry finally stirs, turning his head. When he realizes Louis is up, his eyes widen.

“Lou, you're awake,” he stands up from the chair, hands out like he wants to touch Louis but doesn't want to hurt him.

“Yeah. How long have you been lying here?” Louis frowns at him.

“Few hours. Doesn't matter,” Harry looks at him with concerned eyes, “how do you feel? Do you need anything? I can get you water and food.”

Louis waves him off, “no, I'm good. And I don't feel too bad, actually.”

Harry looks at him, eyes glassy, and slowly leans in to wrap his arms around Louis. He holds him like he's a precious doll, and it's the gentlest hug Louis’ ever gotten.

“Oh god, I can't believe our did that,” Harry's voice is shot, “you got hurt protecting me and I'm so sorry and...you're so stupidly brave, Louis.”

“Only because I care about you,” Louis admits, a hand coming up to hug Harry back, “and I couldn't watch those assholes hit you, especially since they were after me. I'd much rather they hurt me than you.”

Harry pulls back, eyes red and cheeks wet. “What did I do to deserve you, Louis?”

“Something bad,” Louis jokes.

“Don't ever talk down on yourself, Lou. Not when I care about you so much,” Harry tells him firmly, “I won't let anyone hurt you again. I'll protect you for the rest of my life.”

Louis laughs, “sure, Harry. I trust you.”

Tilting his head, Harry leans closer. “You trust me?”

“Yes,” Louis says honestly, “I'm sorry it took me so long. But I trust you, and I want to depend on you and have faith in you. You're so incredible, Harry, and I know you wouldn't hurt me. Hell, you ran in like a hero to save me while Sam just stood there like he didn't know me. That just shows how different you are. I hope you can trust me too.”

It feels like an enormous weight lifted off his chest. After so many betrayals, he's spent everyday walking on eggshells around Harry, afraid to get to close and fall too hard, and now he finally doesn't have to. All his problems fade a little, now that Harry can be right by his side, supporting him. 

Harry looks at him with admiration in his eyes, and before Louis can react, Harry's lips are on his. The kiss is gentle and sweet, but with a hint of protectiveness, and Louis sighs into it.

Harry turns his head to whisper a confession in Louis’ ear.

“I think I'm starting to fall in love with you, is that okay?”

Louis’ breath catches and his heart skips. He never imagined someone would say that too him, but he's so happy it's Harry. He's so, so happy.

“Yes,” he whispers back, “more than okay.”

The doctor comes in to inform Louis of his injuries, which include mild concussion, fractured rib, and many bad bruises. He has to stay for one more night before he can leave. For a second Louis is worried about the hospital bill, but Harry says he's got it covered and Louis can pay him back later, and he relaxes.

Niall and Zayn pop in a while later, fussing over Louis then hugging him then scolding him. Zayn had tears in his eyes but denied it when Louis called him out.

Seeing his two friends reminds Louis that after all this, the shelter is still closing down. Being beaten by a homeless gang, and the man who smashed his trust, doesn't change anything. _Brooklyn’s Hope_ saved Louis, and now he has to return the favour.

Not just for his sake, or Niall and Zayn’s sake. But for every person in New York who needs a home.

“Can I borrow your phone?” Louis asks Harry after their friends have left and the sun is starting to set behind the hospital windows, “I lost mine during the fighting.”

“Sure,” Harry says easily, “who are you calling?”

Louis grins, “someone important. You're right about everyone needing help in their lives, and I think this person can help us a ton.”

He dials the number he admittedly already memorized, waiting for an answer.

_“Just find a way to call me whenever you need me.”_

And, hell, does Louis need him now.

“Hey, Liam? It's Louis. Sorry to bother you, but I need your help.” 

 


	3. Three

 

**“New York City, please go easy on this heart of mine.”**

 

* * *

 

The sound of early birds chirping outside the window and the smell of butter waffles wakes Louis up.

He yawns, forcing himself to sit up and shake the sleep from his eyes. A quick glance at the clock tells him it's barely 7 AM, but he's all alone in Harry's bed when he clearly remembers falling asleep curled up to a warm body last night.

He hears the sound of Harry humming and making breakfast in the kitchen, and he flops back down on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

He's gotten to know Harry's room pretty well the past couple of months. Harry took him out on a date right after _Brooklyn's Hope_ received enough funds to stay open, and since then they often spend time at Harry's house, in his room, getting lost in each other.

It's March now, three months since they saved _Brooklyn's Hope_.

It was largely thanks to Liam, although Louis came up with the plan: host a big fundraiser, complete with fliers, games and food to raise more awareness and donations for _Brooklyn's Hope_.

Liam immediately offered to pay for renting a building space and most of the activities involved in the fundraiser. He gave much more money than Louis ever hoped for, more money than they needed to run the event, but he wouldn't take it back.

“Think of it as my donation,” Liam had said, “I have the means and money to help out, so I will. Sophia also supports you. We don't want this shelter closing down.”

So, because of Liam's kind heart, Louis, Harry, Zayn and Niall were able to work with Barbara and organize the fundraiser quickly. Zayn even drew and printed beautiful posters to post around Brooklyn.

It was an enormous success. People came, young and old, homeless or not. They were educated on the vast amount of homeless people in New York and how shelters like _Brooklyn's Hope_ could benefit them greatly. The children played board games and crafts, the adults socialized over a big table of food, courtesy of the _Brooklyn's Hope_ kitchen staff.

Their donation box was jam packed by the end of it all, some people even donating hundreds of dollars, touched by their efforts.

They made the local news with the headline _local homeless shelter fights for hope._

The money raised at the event was enough to keep _Brooklyn's Hope_ going for another month or so, but more donations that flooded in afterwards promised longevity.

Even now, three months later, people are still donating through the _Brooklyn's Hope_ website that was recently made.

Louis wonders what his step-dad’s face looked like when Barbara dropped the deal with him. He wish he could've seen it.

Once _Brooklyn's Hope_ was out of danger, Louis took Harry's advice and spoke with the employment counsellors there. They helped him type up a resume and found him a job within a month. 

He now works as a cashier at the superstore, who hired him through their homeless hire event. It's not the best, but it's a huge step up from before.

He's saving up money to go to NYU. His application is already submitted, but he hasn't heard a word back yet. It doesn't matter because if Louis doesn't get in this year, he'll just have to try again next year. 

And he knows he'll keep trying until he gets in, because that's his dream.

“Lou! Are you up, babe?” Harry calls him now from the other side of the door.

Louis smiles to himself. His and Harry's relationship, on the other hand, is going great.

He asked Harry to be his boyfriend in February, so they've only been officially dating for a month, but it feels like they were before that too. Louis feels much more comfortable around the other man now.

As soon has he earned enough money, Louis had tried to hand a wad of cash to Harry, attempting to pay him back for every penny he spent on Louis. But Harry wouldn't accept it, saying Louis’ already paid him back in more ways than one. So, Louis decides he'll do little things every day to pay him back instead.

“No, I'm still sleeping,” Louis says, draping an arm over his face as Harry opens the door.

“I will eat all the waffles,” Harry threatens, pulling Louis’ arm away and bending down to kiss his nose.

“Why are you up so early anyways?” he complains, tugging on Harry’s arm to drag him back in bed, “come cuddle me.”

Harry obliges instantly and falls down beside Louis on the bed. He pulls the other man in for a kiss, and Louis lets it go on for a few seconds before pulling back.

“H, I haven’t brushed my teeth yet,” he giggles.

“Mmm, I don’t care,” Harry puts a hand on the back of Louis’ neck and crashes their lips together again, “I brushed my teeth and you don’t even get morning breath.”

That is true. Being homeless has trained Louis’ mouth to self-cleanse every morning.

He sighs as Harry presses into him, licking a hot stripe into his mouth. His lips mold into Louis’, stealing his breath and not letting him feel anything but sparks and heat. Louis never gets tired of kissing Harry, constantly craving the way the other man makes him feel.

He gasps as Harry kisses a line down his face, running his lips over his neck and collarbones.

Heat slashes through his whole body and he remembers what happened last night. They were hanging out at Harry’s flat with Zayn, Niall and Liam, who’s become a good friend. The five of them ordered pizza and stayed up playing one of Harry’s only video games and watching movies.

After their friends left, Harry made Louis stay over and they huddled up in Harry’s bed. Their late night making-out got heated quick, but Louis was honestly too sleepy to get it on. Harry, being the gentleman that he is, threw an arm around him and cuddled him to sleep.

This morning, though, red hot desire leftover from the night before courses through Louis in a rush.

“Harry,” he breathes when Harry releases his captured lips, “Harry, I need you.”

“Yeah,” Harry pushes the blanket aside, bracing one arm beside Louis’ head and tracing his bare chest with the other, “yeah, Lou, of course.”

Louis shivers when he feels big hands grab at his waist, the material of his boxers tightening as Harry moves to press his thigh against Louis’ dick. 

When Harry grinds their bodies together, Louis’ mouth opens in a moan, prompting Harry to slip his tongue back in. His mouth works in tune with his body, and Louis is shaking every time Harry’s clothed dick rubs against his.

“Get this off,” he demands, hands clutching the material of Harry’s shirt.

Honestly, Harry is fully dressed and Louis only has underwear on, and he doesn’t think that’s fair.

Harry throws his shirt on the floor and immediately dives back in, dark eyes focused on Louis’ mouth. Louis runs his fingers down Harry’s toned chest and stomach, loving the feeling of his muscles shifting under his hands. 

Harry’s mouth has moved on to Louis’ stomach now, peppering kisses to his belly button while his thumbs rub circles into Louis’ hipbones.

The first time Harry saw him naked, Louis was afraid. He knew what being homeless and starving all the time did to him. He knew his chest was littered with scratches and bruises, and his ribs were visible and his shoulders were bony and he's all around not sexy. But Harry had just kissed his chest, telling him he was “so fucking gorgeous, babe.”

“You’re so lovely,” Harry says now, hands coming up to play with Louis’ nipples, “I could never get sick of looking at you.”

Louis blushes, breath catching on a moan as Harry’s fingers continue to press at his nipples.

“H-Harry, please.”

“Please what?” Smirking, Harry bends down to suck at Louis’ neck, fingers still not letting up.

Louis’ toes curl because Harry’s teasing him and not touching him where he needs it the most. He needs him to get going, now.

Reaching forward, he palms the tent in Harry’s jeans while unzipping his zipper with the other hand. Harry goes stock still, hands freezing, as Louis reaches into his boxers and wraps a dainty hand around his cock.

“Jesus,” Harry sucks in a breath as Louis starts to stroke.

Grinning, happy at having the upper hand, Louis teases Harry by dragging his hand up his cock achingly slow, thumbing the tip before pulling back down.

“Well, big boy,” Louis says slyly, giving Harry’s dick a squeeze, making the other man shudder, “are you going to put this thing in me or what? We don’t have all day.”

“I hate you,” Harry groans even has his hips start to thrust into Louis’ touch.

He wiggles out of his pants and boxers and tucks an arm behind Louis’ back, gently flipping him over so his bum is in the air. He pulls down Louis’ underwear and caresses his cheeks with both hands before sticking his face in and licking up Louis’ crack.

“Oh my god,” Louis buries his head in the pillow, “s-stop, Harry. Just get on with it!”

Laughing quietly, Harry digs for the lube and condoms in the drawer beside his bed, while Louis keeps his burning face in the pillow. After a whole eternity, he finally feels a finger, cold and slick with lube, prod at his hole.

Whenever Harry fingers him, it feels loving and gentle, like he’s afraid to break Louis. It makes Louis feel precious and safe.

Harry’s tip finally enters him, and Louis lets out a breath. Harry groans and slowly fills him up, inch by inch. He puts a hand on Louis’ back and whispers praises into his ear. In this moment, Louis feels beautiful.

“You good, baby?” Harry’s breath tickles the side of his face, the weight of his warm body sinking into Louis’.

“Yes,” Louis gasps, his body adjusting to the intrusion, “I’m amazing, Harry.”

At that, Harry starts to thrust slowly. Louis closes his eyes, clutching the sheets around him as Harry’s dick nears his prostate. When he finally thrusts deep enough to hit it, Louis moans loudly, siering hot pleasure burning at his core, consuming his thoughts. 

“You’re so beautiful, Lou,” Harry bites at the back of Louis’ shoulders, “feel incredible. You always do.”

His hands run down Louis’ spine to clutch at his hips, and Louis thinks flowers grow out of his skin wherever Harry touches him.

He whimpers as Harry starts to move faster, hitting his prostate every time. That, combined with his dick rubbing against the mattress and the filthy words Harry keeps saying against his skin, drives Louis to the edge quickly.

“I’m close, H,” he mewls.

Harry carefully flips him onto his back again so they can face each other. Harry’s eyes are dark and glossed over, his hair a genuine mess and his face red. Louis’ sure he looks no better.

His dick is hard and leaking in between their stomachs, and when Harry wraps a hand around it, Louis lets out a high-pitched whimper. Harry starts to thrust again, in time with the strokes of his hand on Louis’ dick, and the double pleasure makes Louis see stars.

“That’s it, baby, you’re doing so good,” Harry tells him, thrusts getting messy, “you feel so good, Lou, can’t ever get enough of you. I’m never going to let you go.”

Letting out a chant of “ah, ah, ah”, Louis comes in between their bodies and all over Harry’s fist. He clenches around Harry’s length, making the other man moan and bury his head in Louis’ neck, thrusting a few more times before he’s coming in the condom.

“That’s one way to start off the morning,” Louis breathes, smiling tiredly at Harry as he pulls out.

“The best way, you mean,” Harry presses a light kiss to Louis’ cheek and peels off the condom, “we better get cleaned up quickly though, or we’ll be late to _Brooklyn’s Hope._ ”

Pausing, Louis sits up, his sex-induced sleepiness fading.

“What? We’re going to _Brooklyn’s Hope?_ ”

“Yeah, you don’t remember?” Harry stands up to search for new underwear, “we’re supposed to volunteer with Zayn and Niall and help them serve breakfast this morning. That’s why I woke up early to make us food.”

“Shit,” Louis groans, “I forgot.”

They still manage to make it on time, but only because Louis showered in lightening speed and scarfed down his waffles in three bites.

 _Brooklyn’s Hope_ hasn’t changed much in the past months. Louis often volunteers with Harry, and Zayn and Niall come too.

After a long struggle, Louis, Zayn and Niall aren’t homeless anymore. They share a cheap apartment and split the rent three ways to afford it.

But Louis thinks if he doesn’t visit the shelter once in awhile, there would be a missing piece in his heart. _Brooklyn’s Hope_ was there for him in his darkest time. It was the bright flicker of hope in a world of darkness and snow. It means more to Louis than he ever realized before.

“Hey, Nick,” Louis greets the grumpy man at the desk, “how’s it going?”

Nick grunts out, “horrible” and returns to his newspaper. Louis thinks he’s starting to warm up to him.

He and Harry jog to the kitchen and tie on aprons, ready to help serve breakfast to the homeless. Louis smiles when he sees it’s pancakes, eggs and sausages. Niall’s favorite.

“Ay, it’s the hottest couple of the year,” Niall hoots when Louis and Harry step behind the table of food, “why’re ya late, eh? Busy gettin’ it on in the sack?”

“Niall!” Louis flushes pink, “we did not! And it’s not late, the serving hasn’t started yet.”

“Yeah? Why are you walking funny then, Lou?” Niall laughs, pushing his friend playfully.

Zayn stifles a snort and Louis turns to glare at him. The audacity of these two, honestly.

“It’s okay, babe, don’t be embarrassed,” Harry nuzzles his hair comfortingly, “everyone knows how I feel about you anyways.”

The serving starts and a line of people are let into the kitchen, paper plates ready. Louis scoops as much scrambled eggs as he can on everyone’s plate, giving them a warm smile. His face lights up even more when he sees a group of people down the line. 

“Morning, guys!” He greets Patrick, Eddy and David, “where’s Daisy?”

“Doin’ her makeup,” Eddy rolls his eyes as Louis plops eggs onto his plate, “she only puts on eyeliner, god knows why it takes her so long.”

Two little hands under the table hold up a plate, barely reaching the edge of the table. Louis giggles warmly at the little girl in front of him.

“Good morning, Molly,” he says softly, “would you like some scrambled eggs?”

“Yes please, Lou-Lou,” Molly giggles, “lots and lots!”

Louis’ heart grows bigger as she watches the girl march off down the breakfast line. He’s so, so glad _Brooklyn’s Hope_ didn’t close down.

“Hey, Louis.”

He turns his head to Harry, who’s working on the tray of mashed potatoes right next to him.

Harry’s eyes are gentle, light green like fresh grass in the middle of spring.

“I love you,” he says.

Although it’s not the first time he’s said it, Louis is still taken aback. He knows what his response is, though, has known it for a long time.

“I love you, too.”

And when Harry’s returning smile lights up the whole room, brighter than the rising sun, Louis realizes Harry is his home. Harry is his safe place, his happiness, the love of his life and the one person he can’t live without.

 _Brooklyn’s Hope is my home too_ , Louis thinks as he looks around. He doesn’t stay here anymore, but he thinks the shelter will always hold a piece of his heart.

And he looks to Niall and Zayn, who are discreetly trying to send each other winks while serving people, and his heart clenches. His friends are also his home. They make him laugh and feel light, and he holds them dear to his heart.

Louis is so lucky. Months ago he didn’t even have one single home and now he has so many. His life is full of good things, good people, and it’s bursting with hope. Louis can’t ask for anything more.

Outside the window, the sun is high and golden, basking the world in a happy, heavenly light.

New York looks beautiful when it snows, but when the sun is shining and the flowers are blossoming, the city is magical, ethereal, and everlasting.

 

* * *

 

**End**

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you can, please make a donation to a homeless shelter near you. You never know who's going to need it. xx


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